


the days were long and open ('cause I had a view of you)

by red0aktree



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Background Character Death, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, I feel like that's a given with any Zuko fic, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Light Angst, M/M, Quarantine, Recreational Drug Use, Texting, and bonding over lord of the rings marathons, flirting about gothic literature
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-30
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:08:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 23,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26724154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/red0aktree/pseuds/red0aktree
Summary: The year is 2020. The world is in quarantine. Sokka is one lonely night away from a social deprivation breakdown. The man next door wants nothing to do with him. Sokka had a plan, and he's about to put it into action.~(( If Sokka was being honest, the man interested him. He was surly and shut off, Sokka had never known him to have guests in the year he’d lived next door, but he tended to the plants on his balcony with tenderness and he sang indie love songs alone in his kitchen. Despite his hard edges and dour expressions, there was a softness to him too.And, well, there was the matter of the scar. It took up half his face, spread over his browbone and across his left eye. Sokka wondered if he was in some kind of accident. Maybe he was a firefighter. Or a secret agent. Or the survivor of a house fire. Sokka wouldn’t ask, of course, but maybe if they became friends, he’d be allowed to know. ))
Relationships: Sokka/Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 214
Kudos: 733





	1. JUNE

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all! This is my first fic for the fandom, so hopefully it's up to par. I do not own Avatar or any characters. More importantly, I don't own like half the ideas in this fic. I stole them from all the other wonderful Zukka fics I've read.
> 
> Title from Summer of '42 by Kishi Bashi

This whole quarantine thing wouldn’t be so bad if he didn’t live alone. 

For the most part, Sokka liked living alone. The apartment was the perfect size for him and all his mismatched furniture, he could walk around pantless all weekend if he wanted, and there was no-one to tell him to pick up his hair ties. That’s really why he gave up living with Katara, the never-ending feuding over hair ties. It was silly, he knew, but he was an adult who paid his bills, went to work (mostly) every day, and if he wanted to leave his hair ties in every room of the house he should damn well be able to. Katara didn’t like it though. She nagged and nagged and _nagged._ How could she tell they were his anyway? She used them just as often as him. 

There was other stuff, of course. There was the fact that Aang stayed the night every weekend and ate all their fruit without ever paying for it. There were the _Real Housewives_ marathons that Katara always begged him to turn off. So what if she thought it was a dumb show, Sokka should be allowed to watch dumb shows in his own house. And, of course, there was the fact that he was 26 now and ready to start his own life, a life that didn’t include living with his sister until he was 30. 

_All of it seemed trivial now though_ , Sokka thought to himself. He could use some nagging now, some bickering over the remote, some time spent face-to-face with another human being. The apartment was so lonely, and he’d been stuck here for _months._

Some days were better than others. Some days he woke at 10 a.m., smoked as much weed as he wanted, and played Mario Kart for hours just because he could. He might as well, there was nothing else to do and no one to tell him not to. 

Other days weren’t so good. Days like today, where he paced around the house listlessly for hours, flicked through every thumbnail on Netflix before shutting off the television entirely, lacked the energy to even pour himself a drink. Days where he found himself standing in the kitchen, eating bagged salad straight out of a serving bowl and daydreaming about the good old days when Katara used to nag him about hair ties. 

_It will end,_ he told himself. _Maybe not tomorrow. Maybe not this month. But it will end._

Sokka was startled out of his self-pity by the sound of something big and heavy slamming against the wall. He glanced around the room, wondering if something had fallen, only to hear the noise again and realize it was coming from the wall connecting his apartment to that of his neighbor’s. 

His neighbor, with whom he’d never spoken, but had seen bringing in groceries and tending the plants on his balcony. His well-dressed, sour-faced neighbor who had flipped him off the only time Sokka had offered to help him carry his frankly astounding amount of wine bottle. That was even _before_ the quarantine. Sokka couldn’t imagine how much he drank now that he was trapped inside all the time and the world was ending. 

Sokka pressed his ear to the wall and listened. He heard scuffling sounds, like furniture being moved across the floor. Then the thump came again, and a loud and angry shout of profanity. 

Sokka smiled, then laughed. Whatever his neighbor was moving around, he sounded like he was struggling with it. Sokka wasn’t usually one to laugh at the misfortunes of others (okay, he was, but not in a _cruel_ way), it was simply that this tenuous connection to another human being brought a smile to his face. Sokka may be stuck in here, but _mister tight suits_ was also trapped in his own apartment, and both of them were probably just as miserable as one another. It wasn’t much, but it was a shared experience and Sokka ate it up.

* * *

Over the next week, Sokka was unusually attentive to his shared experiences, subtle as they were. On Monday, while Sokka spun in his desk chair and pretended to be answering emails, he heard the neighbor’s sliding glass door open. Sokka thought about making a casual trip to his own balcony and saying something like, “Hey, come here often?” to the man next door, but decided that was a little too forward. 

Instead, Sokka stood from his desk, coffee in hand, and peeked out the window above his kitchen sink. If he angled himself just right, he could see the man on his balcony. He wore maroon sweat pants and a plain black t-shirt. As far as pajamas went, they were rather refined. Nothing like the bright orange Portal 2 pajama pants Sokka was wearing. 

The man pushed his hair away from his face and leaned against the railing of the balcony, coffee mug clasped between long-fingered hands. He stood still for a long time, overlooking the street below and sipping from his mug. Sokka did the same, drinking his coffee and imagining that there wasn’t a wall and a window between the two of them.

The next night as Sokka settled in for a beer and a _Real Housewives_ episode, he heard music playing softly next door. Sokka silenced his television and listened closely. He couldn’t make out any words, nor even the genre of music, but it sounded soft, with no harsh drums or trilling guitar. Relaxing. 

Sokka leaned back and listened to the faint notes and ran through scenarios in his mind. Maybe his neighbor was cleaning and liked to listen to music while he did so. Maybe he was taking a shower. Maybe he was singing and dancing to himself in the kitchen. Sokka doubted that somehow, the man seemed too sophisticated for that. 

On Friday, Sokka heard the music again. It was louder this time and Sokka realized his neighbor’s balcony door was open, the music filtering softly out into the summer air. Sokka decided he was due for a break anyway and took his coffee out on his balcony, sitting on the lone deck chair he had out there and listened to the soft sounds coming from his neighbor’s house. It was an indie band Sokka hadn’t heard before, all strings and soft vocals. Lyrics about love and loneliness, something hopeful in the sound. 

Inside the apartment, Sokka heard the sounds of the sink running and the tink of dishes being shifted around in soapy water. Sokka filed that away in the mostly empty file of things he knew about his neighbor: He listened to music when he cleaned. Just as Sokka had suspected. 

Then came the unexpected sounds of a voice accompanying the vocals. Sokka smiled. That went in the file also: Despite appearances, the man wasn’t too sophisticated to sing off tune alone in his kitchen. 

He didn’t have a bad voice. Untrained and missing some of the lyrics, sure, but still not a bad voice. 

If Sokka was being honest, the man interested him. He was surly and shut off, Sokka had never known him to have guests in the year he’d lived next door, but he tended to the plants on his balcony with tenderness and he sang indie love songs alone in his kitchen. Despite his hard edges and dour expressions, there was a softness to him too.

And, well, there was the matter of the scar. It took up half his face, spread over his browbone and across his left eye. Sokka wondered if he was in some kind of accident. Maybe he was a firefighter. Or a secret agent. Or the survivor of a house fire. Sokka wouldn’t ask, of course, but maybe if they became friends, he’d be allowed to know. 

* * *

**QuaranGANG**

**Sokka:**

guys I have a grownup question for you

 **Katara** :

This better not be about how to put out grease fires again

I told you, call 911 next time, don’t call me

**Aang:**

Oh I know this one! You smother it. Do NOT use water 

Katara taught me that 

**Sokka** :

she taught me too. And she was NOT happy about it. 

But no this isn’t about grease fires

**Suki** :

Is this about sims cheats again? I told you Motherlode is the money one

Its the only one you need tbh 

**Sokka** : 

NO

THIS IS NOT FIRE OR VIDEO GAME RELATED

**Toph** :

Are you going to make us keep guessing or are you going to use your words?

 **Sokka** :

How do I make grown up friends?

Also how do I make friends during quarantine????

 **Katara** :

You dont

**Aang** :

Talk to people! 

**Toph** :

I’m with K. I don’t think this is friend making time

 **Sokka** :

Okay fine I guess I’ll just go crazy here all ALONE in my apartment

Thx guys

 **Katara** :

Who are you trying to make friends with?

 **Sokka** :

My neighbor. He seems like kind of an asshole but so are all of you??? 

So maybe we’re a good match??

 **Aang** :

Do you have his phone number?

**Toph** :

Hack his wifi 

**Suki** :

Knock on his door?

IN A MASK OF COURSE

**Katara** :

Bake him a cake that says IM LONELY 

**Sokka** :

No aang I don’t have his number

Toph do you know how to hack wifi??? 

That could be kind of fun actually 

**Toph** :

Lol no, I barely know how to use text to speech 

**Suki** :

Step 1 Write him a love letter. Seal it with wax

Step 2 Slip it into his mailbox

Step 3 Profit???

 **Sokka** :

Thats actually not a bad idea Suki

Thanks!!

 **Katara** :

Wait what?? 

Really???

 **Sokka** :

NOT THE LOVE LETTER PART

I meant the mailbox thing

 **Suki** :

Glad to have been of assistance 

* * *

The following day Sokka put his plan into action. He took a stack of sticky notes down to the mailboxes in the morning when he checked his mail and stood staring at the mailbox for apartment number 15 for an embarrassingly long time. This had seemed easier in theory, but now that he actually had to write something his brain shut off. 

After three failed attempts, Sokka finally composed a note that felt sufficient. It said: _Hey neighbor! You’re stuck and I’m stuck, so how about we have coffee on our balconies one of these days? Here’s my phone number, text me if you want._

Then Sokka returned to his house and got to work looking lazily through emails and pretending to work from home. He didn’t truly expect a text, not after previous attempts at neighborly friendship had been shunned, but it was worth a shot.

As Sokka wrapped up work for the evening and began examining his fridge for his next lazy dinner plan, his phone pinged with a text from an unknown number. 

**510-555-4378:**

I prefer tea. 

**Sokka** :

Ewww really?

 **510-555-4378** :

Yes. But some human interaction could still be nice.

Tomorrow morning, around 8? 

**Sokka** :

You get up at 8? During quarantine??

 **510-555-4378** :

I’m more productive in the morning. 

But if that’s too early we could try later. 

**Sokka** :

No no no, 8 is fine

I’m Sokka by the way :)

**510-555-4378:**

Nice to meet you Sokka. I’m Zuko.

See you tomorrow. 

**Sokka** : 

Likewise :)

* * *

It was a testament to Sokka’s loneliness that he even set an alarm for his coffee date the next morning. His work schedule was flexible and there was no way Sokka was working before ten a.m. if he had the choice. But coffee with a stranger was hardly work, he could get up early for that. 

The morning light streamed through his open windows as Sokka prepared his coffee, changed out of the pajama pants he’d been wearing for nearly a week and into a pair of plain jeans. The t-shirt stayed, no reason to change it if it didn’t reek yet. 

A few minutes before 8 a.m., Sokka took his coffee to the balcony to find Zuko already sitting in his deck chair, a book spread across his lap. He raised his eyes at the sound of Sokka’s sliding door opening but gave no other indication that the other man had arrived. He didn’t even shut his book. 

“Good morning!” Sokka chirped, angling his deck chair so he could face the other man. “I never have my coffee out here. I should though, it’s nice. Good to get some fresh air every now and then.” 

“I try to come out as often as I can,” Zuko said. “Otherwise I never go outside.” 

“Yeah, I’m with you there. Going to the grocery store is the most exciting thing that’s happened to me since this whole thing started.” 

“Mmm.” 

Sokka grasped at something else to say. It seemed as though he would be carrying this conversation. Not that talking was an issue for Sokka, rambling on about uninteresting things came naturally to him. 

“I like your plants,” Sokka said. “Is that an agave? My sister gave me one once, but it died. I’m not very good with plants. Do you keep them out here all year round, or does it get too cold for them? I expect it gets a bit cold for them sometimes, you know, since they grow in deserts usually. Do you take them inside?”

Zuko blinked at him, sipped his tea, and then said, “Yes. In winter.” 

“Wow, that’s really awesome that you take care of them like that. Like I said, I’ve always wanted to have houseplants but I’m too flakey for them. Forget to water them, wouldn’t know which ones need to go inside and which can stay out, you know?” 

“Mmm.” 

“What book are you reading? Do you read a lot?” 

Zuko held up his book so Sokka could see the cover. _The Count of Monte Cristo._ It was a gigantic book. 

“Oh, I’ve heard of that. I’ve never read it though, too big for me,” nervous chuckle. “But it looks like you’re almost done with it.” 

“I’ve read it before. I studied literature in college.” 

“Really? That’s so cool. What is it like, studying literature I mean? I like reading, but mostly just sci-fi and fantasy and stuff. I’ve always wondered, how do they test you on books? Do they like, quiz you on the plot and stuff? Seems kind of hard. I studied engineering, so that was always easy. Just tests on formulas and equations. But with books there’s no right answer, so it seems hard to test on it.” 

Zuko perked up a bit. He straightened his back in the chair and closed the book in his lap. 

“I’ve always liked literature because there are no right answers. There was never really tests, just projects and essays. Examining recurring themes, impact on history, the relation between past works, things like that. Not like math or science, there are no theories you can memorize and apply--” Zuko cut himself off, looking thoughtful. “Well, that’s not entirely true. There are plenty of theories. For example, there is the literary device of fate and free will that is often discussed in this book. That’s what I wrote my final paper on, actually.” 

Zuko took a pause to sip his tea, then flushed red. Sokka grinned. He’d found the key. Just get him talking about something he was interested in. That something was apparently books. Zuko seemed to have realized this too, if the blush creeping across his cheeks was anything to go off. 

“Sorry,” Zuko said, clearing his throat. “Didn’t mean to go off on a tangent.” 

“No, no! Don’t apologize. I really don’t know anything about, you know, classic literature or whatever, so this is fun for me. I didn’t know there were theories in literature. I’m guessing they’re nothing like theories in engineering.” 

“Likely not. Theories in literature are like…” Zuko frowned, trying to conjure the right words. “Well, it’s hard to explain since I don’t know what you’ve read. It’s always easier to talk about a book we’ve both read, rather than have me try to explain a plot to you.”

“Umm… Well, let’s see. I’ve read the _Game of Thrones_ series. _Discworld_. Some of the _Stormlight Archive_. Um, my sister made me read _Twilight_ , but that was just so we could make fun of it.” 

The scowl on Zuko’s face told Sokka everything he needed to know. 

“I’m guessing you’ve never read any of those, though.” 

“I can’t say I have…” Zuko coughed awkwardly. “What about _Wuthering Heights_?” Sokka shook his head no _._ “ _Jane Eyre_?” No _._ “ _Dracula_?” No. “ _The Island of Dr. Moreau_?” No. “ _Frankenstein_?” 

“Oh! I’ve seen the movie.” 

“Which movie?” Zuko asked, then shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. There are no good Frankenstein movies.” 

“Hey, that’s not true! I liked the Boris Karloff one. You know, from the 30s.” 

“Sure, it’s a fun movie. But none have been made that actually capture the story correctly.” 

“Well, maybe I could read something and we could talk about it. I think I have a copy of _Frankenstein_ around here somewhere.” He didn’t. 

“The original text, or the 1831 publication?” Zuko narrowed his eyes. Apparently, the distinction was important. 

“I’m not sure…” 

“I have a copy you could borrow. It has some of my notes in it though, so I apologize for that. I can leave it at your doorstep if you’d like. You might like it, since you like science fiction. Actually, some consider it to be the first science fiction novel ever written.” 

“Really? I didn’t know that. That’s awesome. Yeah, I’ll definitely read it. I’m a slow reader, so you might have to give me a bit, but it’s not like I have anything else to do these days.” Sokka laughed. Zuko cracked the tiniest hint of a smile. 

“Sure. No rush.” 

Sokka was about to ask him what the difference was between the two publications but was interrupted by Zuko’s phone ringing a shrill alarm. 

“Oh,” Zuko said, silencing the notification. “I’m sorry about that. I set myself an alarm so I didn’t stay out here all morning. It’s 8:30. I’m meant to be meeting with my editor at nine, I need to get ready.” 

“Editor?” 

“For my novel.” Zuko didn’t expand, though Sokka’s mind exploded with a thousand questions. _A novel? Are you a writer? What are you writing? Can I read it? Why are we here talking about a book published hundreds of years ago when we could be talking about what you’re writing right in the here and now?_ “We should do this again.” 

“Oh, uh, yeah of course!” Sokka composed himself. “Just text me and let me know when. I’m here, literally all of the time.” 

Zuko stood, book under his arm and empty mug in his hand. He nodded to Sokka and wished him a good day. Sokka was sure it was a bit of magic Zuko threw his way because he had a _great_ day. Work flew by in the blink of an eye, mostly because he started two hours earlier than usual and had done more with his morning than just roll out of bed and turn on his computer. Not to mention it had been ages since he’d chatted with a stranger over coffee. They would _definitely_ do this again soon. 

* * *

**Zuko** :

Check your doorstep. 

**Sokka** :

???

Oh hey, thanks! I’ll get reading asap

 **Zuko** :

I expect 4 pages, MLA, double spaced, on my desk by Monday.

No extensions granted.

 **Sokka** :

Sure thing, professor ;)

Though he knew Zuko was only kidding, Sokka got to reading that very night. The language was a bit dense, and Sokka was having a hard time understanding what this random sailor guy had anything to do with a story about a monster made in a lab, but he persevered for Zuko’s sake. He sent Zuko the occasional text as he read. 

Zuko hadn’t lying about the book being full of his notes. Every few pages there were bits highlighted in pink ink, sometimes entire paragraphs. The notes in the margins were printed in neat, tidy handwriting. Arrows pointing to paragraph headings that said _‘Double framing narrative, Walton > Victor’ _ and ‘ _Germany, France, Naples - Displacement’_. The notes made little sense to Sokka, but he liked seeing them all the same. It felt intimate somehow, knowing that Zuko had put his pen to paper on the very pages that Sokka now touched. The book was well worn, with dozens of creases along the narrow spine, the front page dog eared from being shoved into a bag too hastily. 

Katara face-timed him around nine p.m., and Sokka actually sighed in disappointment when he put down the book. 

“What’s up?” Sokka answered. 

“Nothing much, was just getting ready for bed and figured I’d check-in.” Katara’s hair was wet, freshly showered. She wore a dark blue pajama top, and in the background Sokka could see her kitchen and hear the trill of a tea kettle. Katara liked tea, just like Zuko did. He was surrounded by traitors. “What are you up to?”

“Just reading _Frankenstein_ , nothing too exciting.” 

“Oooh, which one? The one from the 30s or that new one with James McAvoy-- Wait, did you say _reading_?” 

“Yup,” Sokka held up the book, his finger marking the page he had stopped on. “Zuko let me borrow it.” 

“I’m sorry-- _Who?_ ” 

“My neighbor. The one I told you about. We had coffee on our balconies today, and he suggested I read it so he left it on my doorstep. Figured I have nothing better to do, and you’re the one always saying I should ‘better myself with literature’ or whatever.”

“I’ve literally told you to read that book a dozen times,” this sounded vaguely familiar to Sokka but he wouldn’t admit it. “And now asshole neighbor guy tells you to and suddenly you hop right on it?” 

“Jealous?” 

“Leave it to some attractive stranger to get you to do things I’ve been suggesting for _ages._ ” 

“Hey, you don’t know if he’s attractive! He could be old and decrepit for all you know.” 

“True, true,” Katara sipped her tea with a smirk. “But he isn’t, is he?” 

“Well, no. He’s not.” 

“Mmm-hmm. I know you, brother. You can’t lie to me. So, you had coffee with him? How did that happen?”

“I left him a note on his mailbox and asked him. He said yes. So, you know, coffee on the balcony. We were six feet apart, don’t worry. It was nice to talk to another human being for once.”

“And what am I? A robot?”

“Well, actually, I’m not talking to a human being right now. I’m talking to a robot, that is connected to your robot, which is relaying my messages. So, _technically speaking--”_

“Whatever,” Katara chuckled. “I’m glad you had fun. Enjoy the book, it’s good. Read _Dracula_ next. Or _Wuthering Heights_.” 

Sokka snorted. 

“What?”

“Nothing. It’s just, he mentioned both of those books, too. Are you sure you don’t know the guy?”

“No, but maybe I should. Sounds like he has good taste.”

“Sure, sure.” 

“Well, I’ll let you go. Just wanted to check in, see if you were still alive and all that. Have fun _reading._ ” 

They bid each other goodnight and Sokka took his book to bed, reading until his eyelids were too heavy to continue. He fell asleep with it on the pillow beside him. 

* * *

They met on the balcony a few days later. Just like before, Zuko was there first. The sun shined bright on his dark hair, catching the glimmer of his light eyes. Sokka wished he knew what color they were. From his balcony, he couldn’t see them well enough to make it out. They looked light, bright enough to catch the morning sunlight, but they weren’t blue like Sokka’s, and he didn’t think they were green either. Hazel maybe, or just a very pale brown. 

He had a new book in his lap this time. Something equally large, the spine just as worn as the copy of _Frankenstein_ he had lent Sokka. 

“Good morning,” Zuko greeted as Sokka flopped into his deck chair and took a long drink of his coffee. “Have you started reading _Frankenstein_ yet?” 

“I’m almost done with it actually.”

Zuko raised an eyebrow. He only had one, the scar marred the space where the other should have been. 

“Really? I’m surprised. I thought you said you were a slow reader.” 

“I am. But it’s actually better than I thought it would be. The language was a bit difficult at first, you know, all old-timey and whatnot. But once I got into it, it’s a pretty quick read.”

“Agreed.” Zuko sipped his tea. “I’m glad you’re enjoying it.” 

“My sister is, too. She was a little judgy about me reading it actually, turns out she’s already recommended it to me and apparently I ignored her.”

“Well, I’m glad I could get through to you.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Sokka flapped a hand dismissively. “Okay, I have a question for you. Last time you said you had a book. Are you a writer?”

“I am.”

Sokka looked at him expectantly. Zuko just raised an eyebrow again. 

“Well?! Tell me about that. That’s really exciting! I’ve never known anyone who’s written a book before.”

“Well, now you do. I’m on my third, actually.” 

“What kind of books?”

“Fiction, mostly. Psychological thrillers.”

“Anything I would have read?”

“Doubtful. They aren’t very popular.” 

“Do they sell?” 

“Obviously. Otherwise, I would live on the street.” 

“I’m Googling you. Right now.” Sokka wasn’t lying. He had his phone perched on his knee, trying to maneuver typing with his non-dominant hand while simultaneously drinking his coffee. 

“Please don’t.” 

“Too late. Wait, what’s your last name?” 

“You won’t find me. I publish under a pseudonym.” 

“Give me a title. What was your first-- _fuck!”_ Lack of coordination won over and Sokka’s phone slipped to the floor at the same time he overcorrected and spilled his coffee down the front of his shirt. “Goddammit!” 

Sokka leaped to his feet and tried to shake the coffee off his shirt before it burned him, all while also trying to find a surface to set his mug down and dancing around his phone, still on the concrete. It wouldn’t do to step on his phone and crush his screen. He really didn’t want to have to make a pilgrimage to the Verizon store during a plague. 

In his panic, Sokka almost missed Zuko’s laughter. Almost. It was a bit impossible to not hear it, it was such a lovely sound. Sokka hadn’t seen him give a true smile yet, so the laughter took him off guard. 

Sokka whipped his gaze to the other man and found him with a hand pressed to his chest, leaning back in his chair, head tipped back in laughter. It brightened his entire face and for a moment Sokka was completely, entirely, overwhelmingly speechless. 

Regaining a modicum of composure, Sokka set his mug down on the ground and aired out his shirt. 

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, Fuzzball.” 

Zuko wiped a tear from his eye and still chuckling asked, “Fuzzball?”

“It’s a _Star Wars_ reference.” 

“Oh. I’ve never seen them.” 

“Never-- What?!” 

Zuko shrugged. “I didn’t watch a lot of tv growing up. Haven’t really had a chance to watch them, I guess.”

“You do own one though, right? A tv?” 

“Yes,” Zuko’s deadpan tone had returned. As much as Sokka liked it, he liked the laughter better.

“Okay, well you’ve got to watch them. Not all of them if you don’t want, the original trilogy is all you really need.”

“I might,” Zuko shrugged one shoulder. “If I get around to it.” 

“Uh-uh, not acceptable. I’m reading old books for you, you can force yourself through the single best movie trilogy ever made.” 

Zuko raised an eyebrow. Sokka was starting to get used to that expression, moderately pretentious, immoderately endearing. 

“Well, that might be a lie. _Lord of the Rings_ might be the best. Wait… Don’t tell me.” 

“Sorry to disappoint.” 

Sokka finally flopped back into his chair and openly gaped at Zuko. Who was this creature before him? Endlessly knowledgeable about books published before their grandfather’s were ever born, yet completely ignorant of the greatest advancements in film storytelling ever made. He was a figure out of time. 

“Oh. My. Gods. I cannot believe this. Sorry, sorry, not trying to like, judge you, but honestly, I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone who hadn’t seen at least one of those movies.” 

“Again, sorry to disappoint.” 

“I’m not disappointed at all! This just means you have to watch them.” Overwhelmed by a thought, Sokka gasped and blurted, “We can watch them together! I mean, not together together, obviously, you know, social distancing. But I’ve never had the chance to show them to someone who’s never seen them. Okay, okay, you pick, _Star Wars_ or _Lord of the Rings_ first?” 

“Dealer’s choice.” 

“Easy. _Lord of the Rings_. It’s a better trilogy overall. It’s got it all-- Evildoers, cool battles, redemption arcs, handsome sword-wielding men. The whole package.” 

There is was again. The raised eyebrow. Did it just stay that way? Was he always skeptical? 

“And women! Beautiful, gorgeous, elfin women. If you’re into that. You’re probably into that, who’s not into that.” 

“I prefer handsome sword-wielding men, to be completely honest.” 

Well, that was interesting. Another thing to file away in Sokka’s mind-file about Zuko. It was growing larger every day. 

“Oh man, you’re going to love it. Or you won’t, that’s okay too. How does a watchalong party sound? Let me know when you have a free evening, I’m pretty sure I have an app that will let us watch at the same time. Hopefully, you’re okay with watching on your computer. If not I’m sure I can figure something out…” 

“That sounds just fine. I’ll text you, I should be free to watch this week.” 

Sokka was overjoyed. He tried not to let it show, just told Zuko he was looking forward to it and plowed his way through changing the subject. He complained about his wet t-shirt, joked about needing to do laundry anyway, asked if Zuko was also having trouble finding quarters (“Whoever would have thought there would be a coin-shortage, of all things?”) and chatted amiably along until Zuko’s timer went off and they said their goodbyes. 

Once inside and planted at his computer desk, Sokka glanced at his phone. Google was still open on the screen, his half-typed inquiry into Zuko’s writing life plugged into the search bar. ‘Zuko Caldera City’ it read. _Why the Hell not?_ Sokka hit search. 

Page after page of articles loaded. None of them were about novels, though. The headlines were all relatively similar: ‘Heir to Sozin Pharmaceuticals to Testify Against CEO,’ ‘Like Father Like Son? Insider Interviews Sozin Pharma’s Prospective New CEO,’ ‘Forbes 30 Under 30 Rejects Fortune 500 Career.’ 

Sokka gaped at the page. There were photographs of Zuko everywhere. On the cover of magazines, interviews with GQ Magazine, news articles about court proceedings. Zuko looking devastatingly handsome with a withering look on his face, one hand raised to paparazzi. _Holy shit. He was famous._

Sokka screenshotted a picture from an article with Esquire and sent it to the group chat immediately. 

**QuaranGANG**

**Sokka** :

Attachment [IMG:15676]

HOLY FUCKJLING SHIT GUYS

HOLY SHIT

 **Suki** :

What am I looking at right now

**Toph** :

Yeah for real what are we looking at, I can’t see the pic

**Aang** :

It’s some guy in Esquire magazine

With a cool scar

And a nice suit

**Katara** :

Wait is that???

Frankenstein man???

**Suki** :

Frankenstein man?? Katara don’t make fun of his scar

**Katara** :

No no no Sokka knows what I mean

 **Sokka** :

YES

YES IT IS

I JUST GOT DONE HAVING COFFEE WITH HIM

 **Toph** :

Someone explain

I’m confused

**Katara** :

Wait really??

 **Sokka** :

Yes yes ok

Thats my neighbor

The one i texted you guys about

I got his phone number and we’ve been having coffee together

I DIDNT KNOW HE WAS FAMOUS

 **Katara** :

Did he tell you he was?

**Suki** :

You didn’t mention he was handsome!

You should have taken my advice about the love letter

 **Sokka** :

No he didnt tell me

I googled him and found this

He didnt mention anything about it actually

 **Katara** :

Maybe he didn’t want you to know?

 **Sokka** :

I legit spilled coffee all over myself while talking to him

IVE MADE A FOOL OF MYSELF

IN FRONT OF A FAMOUS PERSON

 **Suki** :

Not so famous anymore

I googled him. Look at this

Attachment [IMG85578]

 **Sokka** :

Huh

 **Toph** :

What the hell guys no more pictures

I can’t see what’s going on

And I want in on the gossip

**Suki** :

Sorry Toph

It’s an article about how he rejected a role in his father’s company

No one has heard from him since

He dropped off the grid

**Aang** :

Yeah all these articles are old

Looks like he hasn’t been in the press for a few years

 **Sokka** :

I guess that explains why he didnt mention it?

And why he is living in my shithole apartment complex

 **Katara** :

Sokka under no circumstance should you read those articles

**Toph** :

Why not?

 **Sokka** :

Yeah why not?

They’re on the internet. Free to read

 **Katara** :

If he didn’t tell you about it then maybe he doesn’t want people to know

It’s an invasion of privacy 

He should be the one to tell you about all this himself

**Aang** :

^^^

 **Sokka** :

He was kind of defensive about me googling him

He asked me not to

Then I spilled coffee and forgot about it until just now

 **Katara** :

Even more reason not to 

How would you like having all your dirty secrets being online for HIM to read?

 **Sokka** :

Fair enough >:(

 **Suki** :

Am I allowed to read them though

I won’t tell Sokka what they say

**Katara** :

No one should read them! Just leave the poor guy alone

 **Sokka** :

I still just can’t believe he was like, in magazines

And im supposed to be watching LotR with him this week

Spirits Im forcing a famous person to watch movies with me

And he said YES!

 **Suki** :

Youre watching LotR with him?

Wow Sokka that’s like second base for you

**Aang** :

Famous people like movies too! 

And you shouldn’t think of him as famous

Just think of him as your friend :)

**Katara** :

What Aang said ^^^

**Suki** :

Be safe though! Social distancing is important!

(Even for famous people)

**Toph** :

And wear protection 

**Sokka** :

Ewww no its not like that

 **Katara** :

Yeah ewww I dont want to think about my brother like that

Sokka had a hard time focusing for the rest of the day. His fingers were inches away from Googling Zuko again and drooling over the press pictures of him in tight black suits. He wanted to read all about him, learn every dirty secret, but Katara was right and Sokka knew that. Zuko hadn’t mentioned his family at all, it wasn’t fair for Sokka to take that from him. _Invasion of privacy_ Katara had called it. She was right. 

Still, it was hard to keep his mind off it. Sokka waded through emails and plodded through spreadsheets, all while thinking of the enigmatic man next door. 

* * *

Sokka was only a few chapters away from the end of _Frankenstein_ when Zuko’s text came in asking if he wanted to have movie night. Sokka’s heart leaped in excitement. They agreed to use the screen-sharing link Sokka had, which was fine and dandy until Sokka realized that would also mean they would be facetiming. It was a good app, it allowed you to talk while you watched, and see each other’s reactions, but Sokka became suddenly aware of the fact that his bedroom was a disaster. Sure, he usually stayed in his room while on Zoom calls for work, but those were coworkers. They didn’t care about his dirty socks on the floor, but Zuko might. 

Deciding that his living room was in much better shape for virtual hosting, Sokka took his laptop to the couch downstairs and straightened a few throw pillows before settling in and propping his computer on his knees. He sent the film link to the email Zuko had given him and waited in the lobby until Zuko’s face appeared on his screen. 

Zuko was frowning. “This is strange,” he said as a greeting. 

“Why is it strange?” Sokka asked. He was mildly distracted by taking in everything he could about the room around Zuko. His walls were sparsely decorated, a few framed art prints and a landscape calendar were visible in the shot. His door was closed, and he looked to be in his bedroom or home office, judging by the fact that he was sitting upright in an office chair. 

“We are like 20 feet away from each other, but not allowed to be in the same room,” Zuko said. 

Sokka shrugged. “That’s 2020 for ya. Don’t worry, when all of this is over you can come watch movies on my actual tv. It’s huge. With a sound system and everything.”

“I know.” 

“You know?” 

Zuko rolled his eyes. “The walls are thin. I hear your tv through them sometimes.”

“You do?” Sokka squeaked, suddenly embarrassed and intrigued all at once. 

“Don’t worry,” Sokka didn’t like the smirk that was gracing Zuko’s face. “I won’t tell anyone about your love for _Real Housewives_.” 

“Hey! I-- I’m not-- I’m not _ashamed_ of that. Real men watch _Real Housewives_. Sometimes. In secret.” 

“Lips, sealed,” Zuko pantomimed zipping his lips. Sokka laughed. 

“Okay, let’s get this show on the road.” 

Both of them settled in for the viewing. Sokka tried really hard to not share trivia, really, he did, but some just slipped out anyway. Zuko was a good viewing partner. He asked the right questions, made note of characters he liked, and even admitted that he would like to be a hobbit. 

“Why’s that?” Sokka asked with a chuckle. 

“They don’t know what’s going on in the rest of the world. They just get to hide out in beautiful little houses surrounded by books and cheese.” 

Sokka laughed. He didn’t say, _A man after my own heart,_ but he thought it. 

Zuko sipped red wine from a long-stemmed glass. Sokka threw back two beers before that halfway mark. When Boromir died, Zuko pressed his hand to his chest and gasped. When the Fellowship separated, he lamented. When the credits rolled, he leaned back in his chair and said, “You know, I’m not sure why but that wasn’t really what I was expecting.” 

“And what were you expecting?”

Zuko shrugged. It was dark outside, and he was mostly a silhouette in Sokka’s screen. 

“I guess I was thinking it was going to be a tough guy movie, you know? Swords and axes and dragons and stuff. But it was surprisingly… tender? The friendship of the hobbits and all. That one guy dying, what was his name?” 

“Boromir.” 

“Yeah, that was sad. I wasn’t expecting it to be so sad.” 

Sokka laughed. “Well, I’m sorry if it made you sad. We’ll watch the other ones eventually. They aren’t all sad.” 

“No, no! It’s fine. I liked it. Yeah, we’ll watch the other ones soon.” 

Sokka yawned. Zuko smiled. 

“It’s late. I should be getting to bed. Goodnight, Sokka. Thanks for this, I enjoyed it.” 

“Yeah, of course. Goodnight.” 

Sokka fell asleep thinking of that smile. 

* * *

The floodgates of friendship between Sokka and Zuko had been opened, and there was no shutting them. Sokka finished _Frankenstein_ by the end of the second week after their first coffee date. He was assigned _Dracula_ next. Zuko taught him about the history of Gothic literature and asked Sokka’s opinions on 19th-century writing. 

By the end of the first month, they had finished the _Lord of the Rings_ trilogy and were well on their way through the original _Star Wars_. 

They texted nearly every day. It was usually short exchanges along the lines of “Balcony tomorrow morning?” or “What movie tonight?” but occasionally the conversations were more than that. 

**Sokka** :

What are you listening to?

 **Zuko** :

Listen to this playlist for free on Spotify:

[ https://rb.gy/j0perv ](https://rb.gy/j0perv)

Sorry if it’s too loud. I can turn it down.

**Sokka:**

Nah man, turn it up! I can hear it thru your balcony door

I opened all my windows to hear it better lol

**Zuko:**

Is that loud enough?

**Sokka:**

Perfect. Needed something good to listen to while Im cooking

**Zuko:**

What are you cooking?

**Sokka:**

Nothing fancy, salmon and a salad

Are you cooking too?

**Zuko:**

Baking actually. Trying my hand at sourdough.

Figured I might as well jump on the bandwagon.

**Sokka:**

No way! Let me know how it turns out!

One morning Sokka opened his phone to a picture of his own doorstep, something wrapped in a towel resting on his welcome mat. Sokka retrieved the package and was delighted to find a loaf of sourdough bread, perfectly crisped and still warm from the oven. Sokka sent a thousand thank you’s to Zuko, who humbly replied that he was just glad to have someone to share it with. 

It was strange, the way those words rang in Sokka’s head. _Glad to have someone to share it with._ Wasn’t that the whole reason any of this started? Locked in their separate 1200 square foot prisons, Sokka and Zuko were drawn together by a mutual desire for human interaction, for conversation and kinship beyond just the occasional small talk with the grocery store clerk. 

And they had found it. Found it in each other, found it in their makeshift cafe stretched 12 feet across their balconies, found it in small gifts left on one another’s doorsteps and music shared through paper-thin apartment walls. It was all so strange, the closeness they shared despite the distance between them. They’d never been in the same room together, yet they’d shared secrets and laughter like a pair of old friends. 

Sokka hoped -- _prayed_ \-- that nothing would change once the world was back to normal. He couldn’t help but foster a healthy fear that once the circumstances changed, Zuko would lose interest in him. No longer forced together, they would drift apart, become nothing more than the passing strangers they once were. Sokka hoped that wasn’t true. He fantasized about the days when they would be able to lounge in one another apartments, go out to bars together, when Sokka would be able to introduce him to Katara and Aang and the rest of them.

Only time would tell. All Sokka could do was bask in their friendship as it existed, right in the here and now. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Real talk: Does anyone know why when you copy and paste from google docs sometimes AO3 fucks up every single italic? It added a bunch of extra spaces for me for some reason and it was a pain to fix them all (I'm sure I still missed some, pls don't judge me). If anyone has tips please let me know!!!
> 
> Realer talk: Who do you think Zuko's favorite character is in Frankenstein? Do you think he is on team The-Creature-Did-Nothing-Wrong? My bet is on he had a big gay book nerd crush on Henry Clerval ;)


	2. JULY

The dinner dates were Zuko’s idea. It began with a text that read: ‘Have you eaten yet? I cooked too much pasta.” Sokka had not eaten. Well, he’d eaten half a box of Cheez-Its for lunch, but he wasn’t about to admit that. Pasta sounded wonderful.

Zuko sent a picture of the plate on Sokka’s doorstep. It was piping hot, thin spaghetti noodles twisted in butter and parsley. There was a side salad and, _bless his heart_ , Zuko even included a glass of white wine. Sokka snatched it up eagerly and sent a text asking if Zuko wanted to join him on the balcony to eat. 

They assumed their usual positions, deck chairs facing one another, plates on their laps. Sokka didn’t know how to say thank you enough. He probably ought to have said it without his mouth full, but Zuko didn’t seem offended. He laughed. It was always a good day when Sokka could get a laugh out of Zuko. 

“Do you cook a lot?” Sokka asked, mouth thankfully empty this time. 

“A fair bit. I didn’t use to, my family was wealthy growing up so we usually ate out, or had a personal chef. But once I moved out on my own, I found that I kind of liked cooking for myself. It’s easier and cheaper.” 

Sokka sipped his wine to give himself time to think about how to respond to that. Zuko _never_ talked about his childhood. He never mentioned his parents, never mentioned his hometown. It made things easier, that way Sokka didn’t have to pretend that he already knew all about it. He had done as Katara suggested and never read any of the articles online about Zuko, but he knew enough to know that Zuko grew up wealthy. Knew enough to know not to ask. 

But now Zuko was offering. Sokka didn’t know how to approach that. 

“Wealthy enough to have a personal chef? Damn, that’s really something.” 

Zuko shrugged. “I was never cut out for that life. I like it better like this.”

“Like this?” 

“You know, making my own name for myself. Living off my own bank account and not a family trust.” 

“Why’d you give it up?”

Zuko shrugged again. His eyes were downcast. He twirled the pasta around his fork, seemingly searching for an answer in the inkblots the butter made against his plate. 

“Bad blood between my father and I,” was what he finally settled on. 

“That’s rough. Sorry to hear it. But I’m glad you’re happy now. Or, happier, I guess. Are you happier now? That was a stupid thing to assume.” 

Zuko chuckled. “Yes. Yes, I think I am.” 

“Good!” Sokka said brightly. He shoveled another forkful of food in his mouth, his next words slurred as he spoke through the mouthful. “I’m happier too. ‘Cause now you live next door to me, and you feed me delicious pasta sometimes.” 

“What about you?” Zuko asked. 

“Nah, I wasn’t rich. Kind of poor, actually.” 

“I meant do you cook often.” Zuko frowned. “But thanks for sharing.” 

“Oh,” Sokka laughed. “Right. No, I don’t cook very often. I mean, more now than I used to. But when the world was normal, I used to eat out a lot. Pubs and stuff. My sister was the one who did all the cooking, we lived with each other up until I moved here.” 

“Why don’t you live together anymore?”

“She got a boyfriend and they were all cutesy together and stuff. I figured she would rather live with him than with her brother, you know? So, I guess I moved out to give them space. I love my sister, but there’s only so long you can live with your sibling before you get fed up.” 

“I could never imagine living with my sister, not by choice anyway. We never got along.” 

“I didn’t know you had a sister.” 

“Now you do.” The way Zuko said it closed the subject. The same way he always closed the subject of family. Sokka didn’t press. 

“We should do this more often,” Sokka said, finishing off his glass of wine. “Dinner, I mean. I like eating outside. And, you know, having someone to talk to.” 

“Sure.” Zuko smiled over the rim of his wine glass. “That sounds agreeable to me.” 

And so they did. At least once a week one of them would ‘accidentally’ make too much food for dinner, and leave a plate on the other’s doorstep. It got to the point where they didn’t even return the plates, just cleaned them and filled them with food. 

Sokka learned a lot about Zuko during their dinner dates. Usually, it was innocuous stuff, like that Zuko knew every wine pairing there was to know, and that he always cut up his food into bite-sized pieces before eating, rather than Sokka’s method which was to shove huge chunks into his mouth and forgo the knives entirely. 

Sokka learned more about his family though. Over one particularly good ramen dish courtesy of Zuko, Sokka learned that Zuko had learned to cook from his uncle. 

“He’s the best chef in my family. I lived with him since I was a teenager, and he’s the one who taught me to cook, this is his recipe.” There was a fondness in Zuko’s voice that Sokka hadn’t heard in reference to his family. “He taught me to make tea, too. He loves tea, he owns a tea shop in town. It’s struggling right now, what with quarantine and everything. But uncle is confident everything will be okay. He is optimistic about things like that, sometimes to a fault.”

“It’s better to be optimistic, right?” Sokka said. “Especially in times like these.”

“I suppose,” Zuko sighed, a flash of trouble crossing his face. “I still worry though. Uncle has a way about him, he likes to ignore the bad and focus only on the good. I suppose I could learn a thing or two from him in that regard, but I find it better to be a realist about things.”

“Right. Which is why you’re always so cheerful and sunny all the time,” Sokka teased. 

“Hey! No fair. Not all of us can have your chipper demeanor.” Zuko smiled as he spoke, and Sokka knew there was no venom in his words. “You and uncle share that. I bet you would like him.” 

“I’d love to meet him someday. Does he live in the city?”

“Yes. But we’re all being very careful with social distancing, which is why I haven’t seen him in a while. Maybe someday, when this is all over, we could have dinner at his house. He loves to host.” 

“Well, if he cooks half as well as you, I’m sold.” 

“I think you would be sold even if he was a bad cook. I haven’t known you to have the most… refined pallet.” 

“Is this about the Spam again? Look, Zuko, I told you. Spam is a cultural thing. My family loves it. You don’t have to love it, I won’t ever make you eat it.” 

Zuko rolled his eyes. 

“You eat raw fish!”

“I can’t believe you’ve never had sushi before. Really, that’s just a tragedy.”

“It seems gross. And slimy.” 

“It is slimy. And delicious. Someday we’ll go to a sushi bar and I’ll change your mind.” 

“Doubtful.” Sokka knew this was a lie. He’d try it if Zuko wanted him to. He’d probably try dog food if Zuko told him it was good. 

* * *

It was a rare day that the pair didn’t talk at least once. On evenings when neither of them had the energy to cook, they would at very least sit on the balcony and drink together. Zuko drank wine, Sokka drank beer, though sometimes they would switch. At some point, Sokka had found a few 2x4s discarded in a scrap pile on the street, and brought them home to create a makeshift bridge between the two balconies. They secured it on each side with electrical tape and used it to slide bottles between one another. Sokka introduced Zuko to craft beer. Zuko introduced Sokka to wines he could tolerate. 

“This one isn’t bad,” Sokka said, sipping the small amount of wine he had poured into his glass. “But it still makes my mouth feel all puckery, like right behind my tongue.” 

“That’s called dry. It’s a dry wine, that’s why it feels like that. Here, pass it back.” 

Sokka passed the bottle back across the bridge, standing on his tiptoes to push it as far as he could. He made it just passed the middle of the bridge. Zuko leaned forward and took it the rest of the way. He passed another bottle in its place. It was another white wine, and Sokka had no idea what the difference was, but he was sure Zuko would explain. 

“This is a riesling. They’re fruitier than chardonnays, I think you’ll like this one.” 

Sokka poured a small amount into his glass, the way Zuko had shown him. In the before days, Zuko evidently went to a lot of wine tastings. He’d told Sokka all the steps: Pour about a mouthful into your glass, swirl it, look at it discriminatingly (Sokka had no idea what he was supposed to look for but he did this step anyway because it made Zuko happy), smell it, then sip it. 

Sokka went through the steps and then smiled brightly at Zuko. 

“Hey, I actually like this one! It kind of tastes like a sour gummy worm.” 

“Hmm…” Zuko frowned, but there was a hint of a smile on his lips. “Very refined analysis, thank you, Sokka.” 

“No problem, pal.” 

They did the same with beers, but Sokka’s guidance was never as eloquent as Zuko’s. It usually went something like, “This one smells kind of like a skunk. Actually, it kind of tastes like a skunk too, here, try it, you’ll like it.” 

Zuko tried all the beers Sokka passed his way. It was funny to watch him taste it as though it was wine, holding it up to the light, inspecting the color, wafting the scent toward his nose as though it was a beaker of toxic fumes. He smacked his lips together after tasting it, like the pretentious sommelier he was. 

“I don’t think I like this one,” Zuko would say, then taste it again to be sure. “It’s too… Hoppy? Is that the word?”

“Sure,” Sokka shrugged, “I guess that’s the skunky that you’re tasting.” 

“Right.” Zuko raised his eyebrow. “Though, I don’t think skunky is an official word when describing beer.” 

“Whatever. Here, give me to bottle back. Try this one instead, it’s lighter than the other one.” 

Zuko didn’t like the strong beers. He preferred Pale Ales and Lagers. Sokka liked the IPAs and Stouts. It worked out well every time Sokka bought a mixed pack, Zuko drank the refreshing ones, Sokka drank everything else. 

Some nights they drank far too much on the balcony, both of their voices growing louder and louder as they spoke across the gap. Zuko would talk with his hands when he got excited and would say things like, “In my experience,” as though he was eighty years old. Sokka just laughed, a lot, and very loudly. 

Sometimes Zuko would let slip things about his family. They were never direct, but Sokka could make inferences. Things like, “Have you ever even _been_ in a courtroom? It’s awful. So stuffy, and you’re not sure when you’re allowed to talk or not. And everyone is in _a suit_. Testifying is the worst, though. I was so nervous on the stand once, they offered me a glass of water and my hands were so sweaty I nearly dropped it. Then I tried to make a joke, said something like, ‘Wouldn’t do to spill all over the judge’s desk, huh?’ and the judge got mad at me and told me not to make irreverent comments.” 

Zuko didn’t say why he was testifying, but Sokka knew from the headlines he’d seen that he was testifying against his father. Some scandal with the company, some insider information Zuko had against his father. No wonder he had been nervous. 

Those nights were the hardest. Sokka had to choose his words very carefully to not let slip that he knew more than he ought to. It was hard to choose words carefully when you’d had three or four beers, so usually Sokka tried to change the subject. He’d talk about his own family instead. Usually, that was happy, telling Zuko stories about his father and his fishing boat, his sister and all the late-night McDonald’s runs they took while she was studying for her medical degree.

At some point, Sokka told Zuko about his mom. He tried to keep the subject light, but it was hard when talking about the dead. He admitted he missed her, and that he only remembered her face from photos, not his own mind. Zuko was sympathetic and admitted his own mom had left when he was a kid. He didn’t have any photos of her though, they were all with his dad. Sokka wished they could hug. Instead, they both raised their glasses to their mothers and drank to their memories. 

* * *

One weekend, Zuko texted and told him to check his doorstep. Sokka did, and was delighted to find a tiny pot there, with the smallest succulent Sokka had ever seen. It was bright green, with tiny fat leaves no bigger than Sokka’s fingernail. There was a notecard beside it printed in Zuko’s neat handwriting. 

_Water me twice a month. I like my soil completely soaked. Put me in direct sunlight, the windowsill is best, though I won’t complain about being outside. Bring me inside in late September and make sure I have plenty of sunlight. Take me back out at the end of May. Upgrade me to a bigger pot once I completely outgrown this one. Text Zuko, he will help._

Sokka was enamored. Zuko told him that plant was a cutting from his own _echeveria_ . Sokka named the succulent Mina, since he was halfway through _Dracula_ and the plant was so adorable, it only seemed fitting. Zuko thought it was funny. 

Every two weeks Zuko would text and ask, ‘Have you watered Mina today?’ Sokka would say thank you for the reminder, even though he had also set a reminder on his phone, and in any case, he didn’t need either reminder since for some reason he actually remembered to water Mina without needing to be provoked. It was probably because it was a gift, and a gift from Zuko at that. It wouldn’t do to let Mina die. 

* * *

After finishing _Dracula_ , Sokka wrote Zuko the essay he’d requested. He had to Google what MLA format meant since all his STEM professors always asked for APA format. Sokka hoped he did it justice. He started the essay out formally, but eventually, it deteriorated into things like, “Was this book intended to be so gay? Perhaps I have a tendency to read too much into homoerotic subtext, but I kind of got the feeling that Jonathan Harker had a thing for Dracula. For example, in the following quote, Harker’s longing is unerringly apparent...”

He emailed the essay to Zuko. Zuko responded with six paragraphs of feedback which included the sentence: “Your analysis of the homoerotic subtext was rather spectacular, and to answer your question: Yes, the book is rather gay.” 

That weekend they watched the Bella Lugosi version of _Dracula_ for their movie night. Sokka was excited to point out every plot inaccuracy (or accuracy, in some cases). Zuko seemed pleased with this. He suggested they do _Frankenstein_ too. Sokka was a bit apprehensive. He’d already heard plenty of Zuko’s rants about the inaccurate portrayals of _Frankenstein_ and was a bit worried that watching the film together would send Zuko into some kind of heart attack. They watched it anyway, and Zuko got so worked up that at one point he knocked his wine glass off the desk while talking animatedly with his hands. Sokka figured it was all worth it to see Zuko talk so emphatically. 

Movie nights were usually saved for weekends, where more often than not they stayed up hours passed the film ended just talking. Zuko was a great person to watch movies with, he had an analytical mind for stories and liked to pick apart the plot for hours. Even when he didn’t like the movie, he gave a thousand in-depth reasons why he found the plot predictable or the characters poorly written. 

The morning coffee routine continued, though it was more of a habit than anything. They didn’t text about it anymore, and Sokka no longer had to set an alarm. He woke up bright and early at 7:30 a.m. every weekday and took his coffee to the balcony. They chatted about the most recent reading assignments, or Zuko’s favorite teas, or absolutely nothing at all. Occasionally they hardly talked. Sometimes Zuko would just read his book and Sokka would play on his phone, texting memes he found funny to Zuko and watching eagerly for him to open them. 

Sokka wasn’t sure how he ever lived without a friend like Zuko. Conversation came easily between the two of them, and Sokka found it hard to believe he’d ever thought of Zuko as closed off. Sure, he wasn’t always forthcoming with personal details about his life, but he could talk for hours about interests they shared. Or even interests they didn’t share. 

(Technically, Sokka _did_ know why he had thought of Zuko as closed off. It all came down to that time he had offered to help Zuko with his liquor store load, and Zuko had flipped him off. He asked Zuko about that one night after a few too many beers on the balcony. Zuko flushed red and sputtered for a minute.

“I-- Well-- I shouldn’t have--” He huffed an annoyed breath through his nose and finally said, “Yes, I remember that. No, I shouldn’t have reacted that way. I was having a bad day.”

“I could tell,” Sokka laughed. “You had like, twelve bottles of wine. Nobody who is having a good day buys that much wine.” 

“I thought you were judging me for how many bottles I had. I’m not an alcoholic, I promise. I was just… stocking up.”)

It all felt so domestic, the two of them cooking for each other and eating dinner beneath the moonlight. Romantic, even, if it wasn’t for the giant distance between the two of them. Every week it became harder to be separated. Sure, they found ways around it, but Sokka yearned for the day when he was able to eat at the same table as Zuko. Feel his hands brush Sokka’s when they passed a bottle of wine between them. 

Sokka wasn’t aware of how far things had progressed until he had to explain it to an outsider. 

**QuaranGANG**

**Suki** :

Sokka, how are things with you and the hot neighbor? 

**Katara** :

Yeah I was wondering the same

**Aang** :

Are you guys friends now?

**Toph** :

Yeah how’s quarantine dating going for you Sokka?

**Suki** :

Sokka??? Are you dead???

**Sokka** :

Oh yeah

Lol

Yeah we’re friends

Sorry guys, I was having dinner w/ Zuko

**Katara** :

Having dinner with him??

How?

**Sokka** :

Sometimes we eat on the balcony together

He made a pork stir fry that was straight FIRE

I should try to get the recipe for you Katara

**Suki** :

He cooks for you??

**Sokka** :

Yeah. Sometimes I cook for him too

It’s a little system we have

**Aang** :

That’s awesome! 

**Katara** :

I find this strange

**Suki** :

That’s so cute!

**Toph** :

So you ARE quarantine dating him! 

**Sokka** :

Not dating him

Just friends

**Toph** :

But you WISH you were dating him

Come on, you can’t lie to us

We can feel the yearning from here

**Sokka** :

Wrong

Factually incorrect

Just friends

**Katara** :

Uh huh

Sure

You just have coffee with him

And eat dinner with him

**Toph** :

And yearn for him

**Sokka** :

You guys talk like you’ve never had friends before

I have coffee and dinner with you all

Or used to

When the world was normal :’(

**Aang** :

I think it’s nice Sokka! It’s good to have friends

Especially during all this

**Toph** :

Who wants to make a side bet

Ten dollars on they’ll make it official as soon as quarantine ends

**Katara** :

I’ll take it. Tenner on they’ll confess their love by Sept

**Suki** :

Ten on they break quarantine to makeout before it’s lifted 

**Sokka** :

!!!

Uhh $10 on we’ll remain friends and not makeout

**Toph** :

Sorry Sokka you’re not invited to this bet

**Katara** :

Outsiders only, sorry bro

The problem was, they were half right. Sokka was a flirt, and there had been the occasional unfortunate, slightly drunken, confessions to Zuko that he thought he was brilliant (“You’re like probably, and I’m not exaggerating, the smartest person I know.”) that he thought Zuko was attractive (“I know I probably shouldn’t say this, but the scar makes you look kind of, like, dangerous? In a good way!”) and that he was eternally grateful for the friendship between them (“I know it’s probably all the wine I’ve had, but I’m so glad we started having coffee dates because it’s made quarantine _so much better_.”). 

Zuko always took them well in stride, with his usual grace and poise. He thanked Sokka for the compliment or reciprocated that their friendship had helped him as well. He never flirted back, though. Sokka didn’t mind. He was testing the waters, and the waters were not accommodating. He could keep his crush to himself. Besides, it wasn’t worth disrupting what they had. They were on lockdown anyway, there wasn’t anything real that could come from confessing anything he’d regret. They couldn’t even be in the same room together, so his fantasies of an erroneous one night stand that lead to grand confessions of love remained just that: Fantasies. 

Their friendship was easy. It was safe and comforting. It had become the one bright light in Sokka’s dark little world these last two months. So long as Sokka didn’t do anything stupid, it would continue being easy. 

At least, that’s what Sokka thought, until Zuko’s dad died. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter was so much shorter than the first. I might make it up to you guys by publishing chapter 3 tonight as well... We'll see... Good things come to those who wait ;)
> 
> Drop me a comment if you liked this chapter (or if you hated it). I love talking to you guys in the comments, it warms my writer's heart!


	3. AUGUST

When Sokka first got the Google News notification, he nearly dismissed it without reading. Google had an annoying way of remembering any random thing he searched in the last year and announcing to him anything that popped up in the news about it. No, he didn’t care that Tom Cruise was supposedly leaving Scientology  _ again.  _ He had Googled that  _ once _ . Not even for his own good, just to settle an argument between himself and Aang. He didn’t want updates for the rest of his life. Sokka had become accustomed to dismissing the notifications at first glance since they were rarely relevant to anything he actually cared about. 

That was until he caught to words out of the corner of his eye. ‘Sozin-Pharma Disgraced CEO Passes Away at 68’. 

Sokka gaped at the notification for a moment before hastily tapping the link. The article was sparse. There was no cause of death listed. Just information about him passing away in a blue-collar prison. The company was already under the leadership of his daughter, Azula Sozin. His oldest child hadn’t been heard from since 2018 and was not expected to take a role in the company. 

Sokka’s heart quickened. He paused his music and listened carefully to any sounds from the apartment next door. He didn’t know what he expected to hear: Zuko sobbing, yelling, throwing things across the room. There was only silence. 

Sokka sent a screenshot to the group chat. 

**QuaranGANG**

**Sokka** :   
Attachment [IMG:15898]   
Uhhhhhh guys   
What should I do about this

**Katara** :   
Oh no   
Have you talked to him?

**Toph** :   
NO MORE SCREENSHOTS PLEASE

**Aang** :   
It’s a picture of a news article, Toph   
Zuko’s dad passed away

**Suki** :   
:O uh oh

**Sokka** :   
Do you think I should talk to him?   
I haven’t told him I know who he is yet   
Like, who he really is

**Katara** :   
This is a tough one

**Aang** :   
Don’t say anything   
Are you guys having dinner tonight or something?   
Just play it cool

**Toph** :   
Agreed

**Suki** :   
Cook him dinner!   
I’m sure he had already heard the news   
He will probably tell you   
Maybe not everything, but he will probably at least tell you his dad died 

**Sokka** :   
Holy fuck   
I feel so bad   
Dinner is a good idea

**Katara** :   
Don’t pressure him to tell you anything   
Just be there for him if he needs it

**Suki** :   
It seems like they weren’t very close   
So maybe he’s handling it better than you think

**Sokka** :   
Right   
True   
Fuck

**Katara** :   
Good luck big brother   
Love you

**Aang** :   
Virtual group hug everyone   
<hug>

**Toph** :   
Hug

**Katara** :   
Big hug

**Suki** :   
Bigger hug

**Sokka** :   
Thanks guys   
I’ll let you know how things turn out

Sokka cooked dinner and agonized over what to text Zuko for far longer than he should have. He didn’t want to let on that he knew anything was up, but it was hard when his heart felt so heavy with the news. 

Eventually, Sokka resorted to looking back through their texts to find the last time he’d asked Zuko to dine with him on the balcony. He copied and pasted the text, altering it only slightly. 

**Sokka:**   
Guess who’s making wayyy too many tacos again??   
You guessed right, its ME

Zuko was not one to respond late to texts. This time, nearly a quarter of an hour passed. Sokka began to panic. 

**Sokka:**   
Zuko??   
Are you alive?   
Tacos are done and ready for your consumption

?????????   
Is everything ok

**Zuko:**   
Sorry Sokka.   
I’d rather not tonight. 

**Sokka:**   
Oh   
We don’t have to eat together if you don’t want   
I can just leave them at your door

**Zuko:**   
I’m not hungry.   
Thank you though.

**Sokka:**   
Are you sure?   
Really is everything ok?

**Zuko:**   
Everything’s fine.   
Just not feeling up to it tonight.   
Enjoy your tacos :)

It was the smiley face that truly broke Sokka. He hadn’t expected this. He had thought over the scenario a thousand times while he cooked. They would go out on the balcony. Zuko would look downtrodden. Sokka would ask what was going on. Zuko would give him the bad news. Sokka would feign surprise, express earnestly that he was sorry to hear that. He would try to make Zuko laugh somehow. He would listen to Zuko lament. They would part, hopefully with Zuko feeling just the tiniest bit better than before. 

He hadn’t expected Zuko to shut him out completely. He hadn’t expected Zuko to send a goddamn smiley face to try and persuade Sokka that everything was okay, even when it wasn’t.

Sokka’s hands trembled. He paced the kitchen, two plates of tacos growing cold on the counter. He called Katara. 

“Sokka,” he could hear the worry in her voice. “Is everything okay?”

“No,” Sokka said plainly, alarmed by how weak his voice sounded. “He won’t talk to me about it. He didn’t want to have dinner. I can tell he isn’t okay but I don’t know how to tell him that I know and that I’m worried about him.” 

“Sokka, calm down. I can tell you’re upset. It’s okay, you did what you could. He’s probably just processing everything. Sometimes people need space when things like this happen.” 

“All we have is space!” Sokka wasn’t shouting. Or, at least, he tried not to. “It’s not like I can-- I don’t know-- Smother him in a hug or some shit! We literally can’t even be in the same room!” 

“I know. It’s okay. He probably just doesn’t want to talk right now. Think about when Mom died, Sokka. It’s hard, you don’t always know what’s best for yourself. He’s handling his shit right now, he probably wants to be with people he loves and he’s struggling with the fact that he can’t be right now. That’s okay, let him have that.” 

_ I could be someone he loves!  _ Sokka wanted to shout.  _ I could be the one he turns to.  _

“Here’s what you’re going to do,” Katara said, with a voice that sounded so stern and so motherly that Sokka felt tears well up in his eyes. “Send him a text that says that’s okay, you can have dinner together another night. Tell him that if anything is up, he can talk to you about it. Wish him a good night, and leave it at that. Then go eat dinner and drink a beer, smoke some weed and try not to think about him anymore. You’ll just upset yourself.” 

“Okay,” Sokka nearly whispered. “Okay. Yeah. You’re right. Thanks, Katara.” 

“Love you. Call me again if you need me.” 

“I will. I love you, too.” 

Sokka did as he was instructed, down to the very letter. Zuko didn’t respond to the text. Sokka forced himself to eat, pounded a beer while standing at the counter, and smoked weed until he was feeling buzzed enough to lose himself in mindless reality tv and fall asleep on the couch. 

That night his dreams were hazy, but he remembered holding someone’s hand. He remembered running fingers through inky black hair and murmuring the words  _ it’s alright it’s alright it’s okay  _ until his voice was hoarse. 

* * *

Sokka had coffee on the balcony the next morning. Zuko didn’t join him. Sokka sighed and fiddled with the tie on his sweatpants and urged Zuko’s balcony door to slide open. It didn’t. 

Sokka texted dumb memes to Zuko through the day. They went unanswered. Usually, he at least got a smiley face in return. The silence hurt. 

Sokka grappled for things to text Zuko about that weren’t related to his father. He sent a text saying he was almost done with  _ Wuthering Heights _ and needed a new reading assignment (he wasn’t, he was barely halfway through). No response. Sokka tried again, this time asking what that wine they had last week was called because Sokka was on his way to the liquor store and wanted to grab a bottle. ‘Do you need anything?’ Sokka asked. He meant from the store. But he also meant  _ Anything from me? Anything at all? Love? Companionship? Dumb jokes or a distraction?  _ There was no answer. 

He knew full well what the wine was called. They had talked about it at great length, it was one of the few Sokka had actually liked. He bought two bottles, and drank half of the first one alone in his kitchen, his fingers hovering over his phone, halfway desperate to send a text that said ‘Listen I know, okay? I know about your dad and I want to help you so please just let me.’ 

Sokka didn’t send the text. He drank his wine and brooded. He watched reality tv. He wallowed in the emptiness of his apartment, immeasurably more lonely now that he knew what it felt like in happier times. 

* * *

Sokka liked to think he had self-control. In some things, he did. He forced himself to stop after three beers on a weeknight, he usually didn’t eat the whole Cheez-Its box in a single sitting, and he hadn’t ever gotten into a bar fight. He hadn’t confessed undying love for Zuko even though the idea flipped his stomach every time he imagined it. 

When it came to the current situation, though, apparently Sokka’s self-control ended at day three of silence. 

**Sokka:**   
Did I do something wrong?   
Zuko talk to me. If I made you mad please tell me

Look I don’t know whats going on but I want to help you with it    
If you’re busy, just tell me. There’s no need for the silence

DUDE

Sokka finished his beer and crushed the can in his fist in frustration. He thought about calling Katara. He knew she would tell him to give Zuko space. He knew she was right. But he was tired of doing what was right.

Sokka listened to the phone ring. It went to voicemail, as he knew it was. Sokka took a deep breath and let loose. 

“Okay here’s the thing-- Here’s the fucking thing. I know you probably won’t even listen to this voicemail. You’re just going to ignore it, just like you’ve been ignoring my texts. Which, by the way, it shows me when you’ve read them. I know you’re seeing them. You’re just ignoring me for some reason, and I don’t understand what I did wrong. If you ignore this, if I don’t hear back from you, I’m just going to assume that-- that-- I don’t know, I guess that it’s over. Whatever we had, I guess you’re done with it. No more dinner, no more book talks, no more coffee-- whatever. Fine. If you’re done I’m not going to pressure you.

“But here’s the thing Zuko. I know, okay? I know what’s going on. I know that you’re hurting right now, and I just wish that you’d let me in. I know I shouldn’t have, but I saw it okay? On the news. I saw about your dad. And I know we’re separated and that there’s this whole fucking quarantine thing, but I’m  _ here  _ for you, okay? If you want to talk or come over or whatever. Whatever you need, I’d do it for you. And short of breaking down your door, I don’t know how to get through to you about that. So I guess just…. Just call me back. Or let me know that you want to talk. But the ball’s in your court now, I won’t bother you anymore. If you want me, you know where to find me.” 

Sokka hung up the phone and promptly collapsed into a kitchen chair, his head in his hands and his breath ragged. He shouldn’t have done it. He shouldn’t have admitted that he knew about Zuko’s dad. It was his secret to share, and Sokka had taken that from him. 

Time passed slowly. Sokka didn’t know how long he sat at the table, trying to get his breathing under control and get his heart to stop trying to break its way out of his chest. Everything hurt. Thinking about him hurt, looking at his silent phone hurt. Being alone in the empty apartment hurt. 

Sokka scooped up his phone to call Katara. Before he could open her contact, the phone was ringing. Soka held his breath, finger trembling over the answer button. The one person he wanted to talk to most in the world, and here he was hesitating to answer. 

“Hello?” Sokka said finally, pressing the phone to his ear. 

The line was silent for several seconds until finally, Zuko took in a deep, slightly wobbly breath. 

“I would have told you.” 

“What?”

“I would have fucking told you.” Zuko sounded furious, but there was also a weak, wrecked sound to his voice. Sokka clutched the phone. “If you had just waited, I would have told you everything. I didn’t want to burden you with all my bullshit, okay? I didn’t want to bring all my problems into our-- whatever it is.”

“Zuko, it’s okay, you wouldn’t be a burden--”

“But you went and put your nose where it wasn’t meant to be. I thought that I could trust you, Sokka. But evidently, I was wrong.” 

“No, no, no, please don’t say that--” 

“Don’t call me again.” 

“Zuko please--”

“Don’t text me. Don’t come to my house. Goodbye, Sokka.” 

The line was dead before Sokka could say anything else. Everything crashed down around him. They say your life flashes before your eyes in your final moments. Here, in the final moments of the relationship he had built up with Zuko, everything flashed before Sokka’s eyes. Their first stunted conversation on their balconies. The way he looked framed in the moonlight on their movie nights. The flush of his cheeks when Sokka made a drunk confession. The first time Sokka saw him laugh, his head tipped back, his face so free and kind and  _ beautiful.  _

Sokka wrapped his arms around his stomach and cried. Great, heaving sobs that shook his entire body. There was nothing else he could do. 

* * *

Things were bad for Sokka after that. He figured things were bad for Zuko, too, but he wouldn’t know. They hadn’t spoken in weeks. Sokka hadn’t spoken to anyone in weeks, truthfully. Katara tried to call, but he ignored them. The group chat was busy with memes and the occasional ‘Sokka, how are things with you and hot neighbor?’ but Sokka muted the notifications. 

He drank. He plodded through work. He slept when he had to. He drowned his thoughts in bad reality tv. He drank more. 

He didn’t drink coffee on the balcony anymore. He kept the blinds shut.  _ Wuthering Heights _ remained unfinished on his nightstand, and when he couldn’t stand to look at it anymore, he left it on Zuko’s porch along with the plate that had been passed between them. 

It was somehow worse than every breakup Sokka had ever been through. They weren’t even together, and yet this was the worst heartbreak Sokka had ever felt. Maybe it was worse somehow because they were never together. Sokka had ruined it before it ever had a chance to begin. 

* * *

Katara finally got through to Sokka by threatening to call Adult Protective Services on him. That agitated Sokka, but then again, everything agitated him these days. He’d kicked his laundry basket halfway across the living room the other day because it was in the way of his sulk. Sokka had never been this kind of person. Zuko had done this to him. 

(He did this to himself. He knew that. That’s what hurt even worse.)

“What?” Sokka answered the phone irritably. 

“What the fuck is going on with you?” Katara asked, sounding just as irritable as he did. “Why have you been ignoring everybody?” 

“Because! Because!” Sokka didn’t have a good answer. “Because everyone is up in my shit and I need you all to lay the fuck off!” 

“You literally just dropped off the face of the planet, of course we’re worried about you!” Her voice softened then. “Sokka, tell me what happened.” 

“I fucked it all up, that’s what happened. Go ahead, say you told me so.” 

“You didn’t.”

“I did! He wouldn’t talk to me so I got pissed off and I told him I knew about his dad. And that ruined everything, just like you knew it would. Go on, say it!”

“I’m not going to say it, I’m not--” He could picture her pinching the bridge of her nose. Katara sighed. “Sokka, I’m sorry. Tell me what happened, from the beginning.” 

So, Sokka told her. He told her more than she probably wanted to know. He told her about how much he had loved talking to Zuko, told her about how they used to talk every day and about how Sokka’s mornings didn’t feel right unless he saw Zuko in the morning sunshine, mug of tea in hand. He told her about the texts, and the phone call, and about how Zuko had told him never to contact him again. He told her everything, and he did it all while fluctuating between pure rage and the deepest, darkest sadness he’d ever felt. 

“Just tell me what to do, Katara. Tell me how to fix it,” he begged at the end. 

Katara was silent for a long time. 

“I don’t know how it can be fixed, Sokka. It-- Maybe it’s just done. Broken trust is hard to repair. You could try again in a few months, try to call him-- or-- Oh spirits, I don’t know. I’m not good at this kind of thing. I’m sorry.” 

“I know. I ruined it. I know this.” 

“Listen, we still all love you. You still have all of us, you know?”

“I know,” Sokka hiccuped, holding back a sob as best he could. “I know. But it’s not the same. I-- With him--” 

“I know.”  _ I know you were halfway in love with him. I know you wanted more from him than any of us could ever give you.  _

“Thanks for trying anyway. If you come up with any magic fix-a-broken-heart remedy, send it my way, will ya?” 

“Of course. Love you, big brother.” 

“Love you, too.” 

* * *

In the end, it was Aang who had the best advice. He called on Katara’s phone because he knew Sokka wouldn’t answer if he called from his own. Sokka was a bit affronted to hear his voice on the other end of the call, but he listened anyway. 

“I think you need to talk to him,” Aang said, in his bright hopeful voice. Sokka grit his teeth. 

“Yeah, no shit. That’s the problem Aang, I can’t talk to him. He asked me not to contact him.” 

“He said that when he was angry. He might not have meant it.”

“It sure sounded like he meant it.” 

“Well, did he block your number?”

“I don’t know.”

“Did he move?”

“No.”

“Then it seems pretty possible to me that you could talk to him. I think you need to explain yourself. You betrayed his trust, and that’s pretty bad. But you guys were friends, and it sounds like you were close, so maybe he is willing to forgive you. And really, it’s not like you did anything malicious to hurt him. You were trying to help. Maybe you didn’t do it in the best way, but if it were me, I’d be willing to forgive that.”

“But that’s you, Aang. You’re like, the most forgiving person I know.” 

“Aw, thanks Sokka. But I mean it. You won’t know until you try. Explain everything to him, all the things you feel about the situation. Be honest with him, and with yourself. Everything you did, you did because you cared about him. And if he isn’t willing to see that and forgive you, then maybe you don’t want him as a friend anyway.” 

“I do though. I do want him as a… Friend.” 

“Right, about that. If you’re in love with him, you should probably tell him that, too. And if it all goes wrong, well, you could always move.”

“Gee, thanks, Aang.”

“It’s not the end of the world, Sokka. If it doesn’t work out, it doesn’t work out. But you won’t forgive yourself unless you try. If you try your best and he rejects it, then at least you know you did your best, and you can move on.” 

“I guess you’re right.”

“I guess it’s time to write him that love letter Suki suggested, huh?” Aang laughed. Sokka didn’t find it to be a laughing matter, but he thanked Aang for his advice anyway. 

Three weeks to the day of Zuko’s father’s death, Sokka sat down to write a letter. It took a dozen tries, half of the notebook was crumpled in the wastebasket before he gathered his thoughts, but in the end, Sokka felt good about it. It wasn’t perfect, but at least it was honest. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys seemed a bit emotional about the cliffhanger last chapter. So how's this? Oh what's that? Another cliffhanger?? Condemn me in the comments section, it brings me great joy


	4. SEPTEMBER

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well folks, this is it! Thank you all so much for the love you've shown this fic. Hope you are all well and surviving these crazy times! Come chat with me on tumblr at red-0ak-tree.tumblr.com if you want, I love new friends :)

_ Dear Zuko, _

_ I don’t know how to write something like this. I’m not good with words the way you are. But a friend of mine suggested I write this, so here I am. If you never read it, that’s okay. If you never even see it, that’s okay too. I just needed to do something, for myself mostly. I know that’s selfish. I’m a selfish person. I’m sorry about that, but it’s not the only thing I’m sorry about.  _

_ I’m sorry about pushing you to talk when you were in a bad place. I’m sorry that I looked you up online and learned about your father. That was your secret to share, and I stole that from you. I shouldn’t have. I knew when I was doing it that I shouldn’t. It was mostly by accident, though. That first day we talked about your book, I told you I was going to Google you. Then I spilled coffee everywhere like a jackass. Well, anyway, that was the day I looked you up, after we finished having coffee together. I saw stuff about your family company and how you had left it. I didn’t read any of the articles, I just saw headlines. I remembered what you said about wanting to make your own way and I knew you wouldn’t want to talk about it, so I never brought it up. I wanted you to share if you wanted to. But it didn’t matter either way. I liked you for you, not for whatever your family was doing. That’s all I ever looked up, I swear.  _

_ Okay, that’s not technically true. I did look at the photo shoot you did for Esquire because you looked REALLY good in that suit. But that’s not the point.  _

_ I got the notification when your dad died by accident. Stupid fucking Google, remembering everything you ever search. I knew you would be sad. I wanted to comfort you. I knew you should be the one to tell me though, not Google, so I waited. But you shut me out, and that upset me. It shouldn’t have upset me, I should have let you have your space. But I just  _ _ cared  _ _ care about you a lot and I felt like there was something I could do to help. I wanted to cook you dinner, or give you a hug, or make you laugh. And it made me really sad that you wouldn’t let me help, so I got frustrated and I lashed out and I shouldn’t have.  _

_ I know that you’re angry with me. I know that I hurt the trust between us. I know that you would have told me if I’d just waited, and I’m sorry I didn’t give you that chance.  _

_ Like I said, I’m selfish. But I’m also so, so crazy about you. I think you’re absolutely brilliant, and I think you’re so strong for making something of yourself, and I think you’re a great cook and an amazing person and the kind of friend that anyone is lucky to have. And I’m so, so, so sorry that I ruined that.  _

_ Please don’t respond to this if you don’t want to. Delete my phone number, forget all about me if you haven’t already. Do what is best for you. Do what makes you happy. But know that if somehow you want to repair what we had, you know where to find me.  _

_ Yours, _

_ Sokka _

Aang had been right. It felt good to write it all down, to be honest with Zuko and honest with himself. He hadn’t said everything that he could have, but after the first few drafts began with something along the lines of “I did it all because I’m terribly, hopelessly, irrevocably in love with you,” Sokka decided that he was coming on too strong. Sokka had meant everything he said. He had said  _ I love you  _ between the lines, and Zuko was smart enough to see that. If he wanted to acknowledge it, he was welcome to. If he didn’t, then that was okay too. 

Sokka didn’t have any wax to seal the envelope with. He sort of wished he did, because that seemed like the kind of romantic, esoteric thing that Zuko would have like. Instead, he just folded the envelope closed and placed it gently on Zuko’s doorstep. He took a picture and texted it to the contact that had been so familiar to him only weeks ago. 

**Sokka:**   
Attachment [IMG:16003]   
You don’t have to read it   
But I had to say something

Sokka watched until the message appeared as read. He sat behind his front door, back pressed against it, close enough that he could hear when Zuko’s door opened and shut again a moment later. He had the letter. Now all Sokka could do was wait. 

He paced his kitchen, but that didn’t keep him occupied enough, so he plunged his hands into the sink full of dirty dishes that had pilled up during his depressive episode. He put on music for the first time in weeks. He cleaned, and thought, and waited. 

It was dark outside when, against all odds, his phone pinged with a message. 

**Zuko:**   
Thank you for your letter.   
I know it’s late, but would you like to have a drink with me?

**Sokka:**   
Yes! Yes more than anything

**Zuko:**   
I’m on the balcony

Sokka’s heart hammered in his chest. His nerves were beyond frayed, they were absolutely shredded, but he forced his hands to stop shaking long enough for him to get a beer from the fridge and open the blinds to the balcony. 

Zuko was in his deck chair when Sokka stepped outside, but the moment he saw Sokka he stood up. Sokka stopped in his tracks and stared. Zuko looked bad. His hair was in disarray, and there was a sallow, drawn out look about his face. Sokka wondered if he looked the same, he hadn’t seen a mirror in days. He knew his face was peppered with stubble, but it wasn’t exactly like he could have shaved before meeting Zuko for this impromptu balcony break. 

The pair stared at each other for a long moment, and Sokka wondered if he was the one who was meant to speak first. He already felt like he’d done all the talking, he’d poured it all out in a letter that was currently clasped in Zuko’s pale hands. 

“So…” Sokka began. “Do you come here often?” 

Zuko looked perplexed, and then his face split into the tiniest hint of a smile. 

“Not so much recently. I used to.” 

“Huh. Well, maybe you should come out here more often. You look like you could use the sun.” 

Zuko’s smile grew, and then faltered and disappeared completely. 

“Sokka, I’m--”

“Look, Zuko--” 

They both interrupted themselves and continued to stare. Then Sokka broke out into the breathiest, most nervous laugh he’d ever heard come out of his mouth. 

“Hold on,” he said, popping the tab on his beer and slugging back three long gulps. “I think I need to be less sober for this. Listen, Zuko, I’m so fucking sorry, okay? I know I already wrote it all down but I’ll say it out loud if you want to hear it. I’m sorry and I’m embarrassed and I--”

“You’re forgiven.” The words were spoken so quickly and quietly Sokka nearly missed them. 

“What?”

“You’re forgiven. And, for what it’s worth, I’m sorry too. I was angry and I said things I didn’t mean. I shouldn’t have… I shouldn’t have done that to you.” 

Zuko twisted the letter in his hands as he spoke. When he finished, he seemed to realize he had crumbled the page and quickly straightened it out. He sat back in his chair and flattened it in his lap, spread his long fingers across the paper, massaging the creases out. When Sokka didn’t speak, he looked up and blinked. 

Sokka pulled himself from his trance, mouth hung open. 

“You-- You don’t have to apologize. You-- It’s-- It’s okay.” 

“I do though. I feel wretched about what I did to you. I… I’ve been a bit of a mess, if I’m being honest. I just didn’t know how to approach you, and since you never contacted me I thought I had scared you away for good.” 

“You could never. Zuko, I--”  _ I love you. I love you so much you could never scare me away.  _ “I’m sorry you’ve been feeling bad. If there’s anything I can do, you’ll let me know, won’t you?”

Zuko nodded, looking to his hands in his lap. 

“This is good. This is a good start. I think I needed this.” 

“You know if there wasn’t this whole plague thing going on, I’d give you a bear hug right now.”

Zuko still didn’t meet Sokka’s gaze, but his lip quirked up in a sad smile and he said, “I think I could use one of those, to be honest.” 

Everything in Sokka burned. For a wild moment he examined the gap between them, gauging if he could just leap the distance and wrap Zuko in his arms. Something sad must have shown on Sokka’s face because when Zuko glanced up his eyes widened and he looked concerned. 

“I mean, I’m okay, everything’s okay. Just, you know. It’s been a while.” 

“I know,” Sokka said, sinking into his deck chair to stop himself climbing the railing and reaching for Zuko. “I feel that too.” 

Sokka took a long drink from his beer and watched Zuko. He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know if he should ask about his father, ask how things were going, ask what came next. Instead, he just stayed quiet and Zuko ran his fingers restlessly over the letter in his lap. 

“You were wrong, you know?” Zuko said finally, tapping the letter. “You are good with words.” 

“You say that, but you didn’t see how many drafts made it into the trash before that one got to you.” 

“It’s always like that with writing. Sometimes the words don’t come out right the first time, so you have to revise them. It’s why I, well, it’s why I feel more comfortable with a pen than with my own mouth.” 

“I’m sure you speak just as well as you write.” 

Zuko shook his head. “Sometimes I say things I don’t mean. I mean-- Well--”

“It’s okay,” Sokka said quickly, cutting him off. “We don’t have to talk about it.” 

“Okay.”

“How is your book going?”

“Um, it isn’t.” Zuko sunk lower in his seat. “I haven’t written anything in weeks. My publisher is angry with me. She doesn’t say it, she knows, well, she knows what happened with my dad, but she still wishes I was writing more. I can tell.” 

“I’m sure that isn’t true. She wants you to be happy, and to write when you want to write.” 

“Sure.” Zuko shrugged one shoulder. 

Sokka was desperately lost. There was so much sadness in the man sitting across from him. So much despair and hopelessness. Sokka wished he had the answer, but he didn’t. He had nothing to offer, nothing that could make any of this better. 

Zuko raised his feet to the seat of his chair and tucked his knees to his chest, arms wrapped loosely around his shins. He held the letter in his hands, careful to keep it from being crushed in the bend of his waist. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Sokka asked. “About… Your dad. Or anything, really.” 

Zuko shrugged one shoulder. 

“I don’t know. There’s not much to say. We hated each other. He was corrupt, and his company is a disgrace. He wanted me to take over, I said no. The company got in trouble for embezzling money. They asked me to testify against him, so I did. He hated me even more after that, so we never talked. Now he’s dead.” 

Sokka didn’t miss the way his voice caught up those last few words. The words implied that he could care less. His tone implied that he cared so much it was breaking his heart. 

“Did you ever make up? You know, before…”

“No. And now we never will.” 

“Does that…” Sokka didn’t want to put words into Zuko’s mouth, but he forged ahead anyway. “Does that make you sad?” 

There was a long moment of silence. Zuko hugged his legs tighter. “My uncle says it shouldn’t.”

“Fuck what your uncle says. How do you feel?” 

“I don’t know.” Zuko didn’t meet Sokka’s eye. “I didn’t even go to the funeral.” 

“Zuko, it’s okay to feel sad about it.”

“I know.”

“It’s also okay not to feel sad about it. Any way you feel is okay.” 

“I know.” Zuko clenched his hand into a fist, then let it fall. “The problem is I don’t know how I feel. Sometimes I feel sad, and then I feel angry, and then I feel nothing, which makes me feel guilty.” 

“Don’t feel guilty. Emotions are hard, you can’t control them. They kind of just, do whatever they want.” 

“Mostly I just wish it hadn’t happened, because then I wouldn’t have to feel anything.” Zuko sighed. “I don’t think I want to talk about it anymore.” 

Sokka nodded. Zuko yawned, one pale hand pressed against his mouth in an uninspired attempt at decorum. The sun had set hours ago. It was probably nearly 11 p.m. 

“You seem tired. We can continue tomorrow, have coffee like--”

“No,” Zuko spoke quickly, as if he was afraid Sokka would get up and walk inside before he even finished speaking. “No, that’s okay. It’s just been a long day. A long week, actually.” 

“Mmm,” Sokka nodded, examining the other man with a wary eye. “Well, in that case, do you want to maybe watch some trash television?” 

It was underhanded, Sokka knew. But it was a sure-fire way to get Zuko to sleep. 

“Out here?”

“I was thinking inside. Like, on our laptops or whatever.” 

“Oh. Yeah, sure, that’d be alright.” 

“Cool. Digital regroup in a minute, then?” 

Zuko yawned again and stood from his chair. He seemed to hesitate, as if there was something else he wanted to say. Sokka waited, standing from his own chair but giving Zuko time to speak if he wanted to. He seemed to decide against it. He gave Sokka an awkward little wave and ducked into his own house. Sokka did the same. 

Sokka sent the link and soon they were looking at one another through their mutual laptop screens. Zuko was propped up against his headboard on a throne of pillows. His sheets were a dark gray, or maybe black. It was hard to tell with only the bedside lamp to illuminate the room. 

Sokka flopped on his bed, earbuds in, and said, “Alright, it’s about time you were introduced to the  _ Real Housewives _ . Are you ready?” 

Zuko rolled his eyes but begrudgingly agreed. Sokka loaded up the stream and settled into his own mess of pillows. 

“Okay, so that’s Vicki. She sucks, and I’m pretty sure she’s cheating on her husband. That’s Gretchen. I love Gretchen, she’s a real bitch. There was this one episode where…” 

Sokka continued his running commentary, satisfied every time he saw Zuko stifle a yawn. As the episode progressed Zuko slumped lower and lower into his mound of pillows until he was nearly out of screen. Sokka continued talking, keeping his tone as modulated as possible until finally Zuko’s eyes closed and didn’t reopen. 

By the time the episode ended Zuko was sound asleep, one hand propped under his chin and his face more relaxed than Sokka had ever seen it. Sokka ended the call and settled himself into bed for the night, sending a text before he drifted off. 

**Sokka:**   
WOW I can’t believe real housewives was such a bore for you ;)   
Goodnight Zuko, sleep well

* * *

**QuaranGANG**

**Sokka** :   
AANG YOU BEAUTIFUL BASTARD   
IT WORKED

**Aang** :   
Hooray!!    
I’m so glad!!

**Toph** :   
What worked?

**Katara** :   
Yeah tell us Sokka? ;)

**Suki** :   
Holy shit we thought you were dead   
Spill the deets

**Sokka** :   
I did a dumb thing and made Zuko mad at me   
But then Aang suggested I write a letter and so I did   
And it WORKED!!!!!   
We talked last night and had coffee this morning   
And I think we’re friends again :) :) :)

**Katara** :   
That’s great Sokka!   
Happy 4 u

**Toph** :   
Wait friends or FRIENDS   
Who won the bet   
Did you confess your love yet?

**Sokka** :   
Just friends   
No one won the bet   
There’s no bet to win

**Suki** :   
Beg to differ   
You practically went into a trance when he got mad at you   
Ur definitely in love with him

**Sokka** :   
:) :) :)

**Toph** :   
Bro you gotta tell us if you made out with him   
I have money riding on this you know

**Sokka** :   
Quarantine, remember?   
Couldnt makeout with him even if I wanted   
Which i don’t want   
But if I did

**Katara** :   
Does he go out in public much?

**Sokka** :   
No? Not that I know of   
We’re both are pretty shut in

**Suki** :   
I see potential here

**Katara** :   
Me too. Not to be a bad influence, but if he’s being safe   
And you’re being safe   
And neither of you have COVID…

**Sokka** :   
What are you saying

**Toph** :   
Go makeout with him!   
Win me this bet

**Suki** :   
EXCUSE ME   
I think you are mistaken Toph   
If he breaks quarantine to makeout with hot neighbor I’m pretty sure I win the bet :)

**Aang** :   
I agree with Katara   
If you guys are both being safe it’s probably okay for you to see him   
Like, up close ;)

**Toph** :   
Technically I think the restriction is only for groups larger than 10   
So unless you guys have some big orgy   
You’re probably fine

**Katara** :   
Ew toph no

**Toph** :   
;) 

**Suki** :   
Yeah do it Sokka! Win me this bet!!! 

**Katara** :    
Sokka? 

**Aang** :   
I think we broke him

**Suki** :   
R u ok

**Sokka** :   
I hadn’t thought about it like that

**Toph** :   
Aw guys he’s in love   
Still wear protection   
Not a mask   
I mean the other stuff

The thought tempted Sokka for the rest of his workday. Katara was right (as always). Both of them had been safe. Neither had symptoms. Sokka looked up the county restrictions just to be sure, and Toph had been right. It restricted groups larger than ten. Technically the CDC didn’t have any guidelines advising against spending time with your emotionally distressed neighbor. 

Sokka gave in just before he was scheduled to clock out and texted Zuko. 

**Sokka:**   
I had a thought

**Zuko:**   
I’ve never known this to be a good sign.   
;)

**Sokka:**   
RUDE   
SO RUDE   
Okay but hear me out   
How would you like to have dinner with me?   
Like. In person

**Zuko:**   
Is it not in person when we’re on the balcony?

**Sokka:**   
I meant like in the same house   
My house   
Or yours if you’d rather

**Zuko:**   
Do you think that’s a good idea?   
Lockdown, remember?

**Sokka:**   
I know, but I was thinking about it   
And both of us have been really safe   
Have you gone anywhere but the grocery store for months?

**Zuko:**   
Technically, I haven’t even gone to the grocery store in a few weeks…

**Sokka:** **  
** Same! Well I went to the store on Wed   
BUT STILL   
My point still stands. We’ve both been safe   
And neither of us are sick   
So we don’t really pose a risk to each other

**Zuko:**   
Hmm...

**Sokka:**   
At least think about it?

**Zuko:**   
I am.   
I think it’s probably okay…

**Sokka:**   
Yeah?? So my house then???   
I’ll make that salmon thing you liked

**Zuko:**   
I can bring the wine you like

**Sokka:**   
Deal! See you tonight

Sokka was overjoyed. The moment he clocked out of work he dashed to the kitchen, tidying up the miscellaneous piles of clutter loitering on his kitchen table. He took out the trash and lit a candle in the living room. He swept the kitchen and wiped down the counters. He put a playlist on his Bluetooth speaker and finally, almost as an afterthought, remembered that he was meant to be cooking. 

Today was, possibly, the single greatest day Sokka could remember since quarantine started. It was Friday. The leaves were finally turning brown for fall. Sokka’s best friend (crush? Hot neighbor?) was talking to him again. He would be in Sokka’s very own kitchen eating food at Sokka’s table. 

The doorbell rang and Sokka nearly jumped out of his socks. He dashed to the door and wrenched it open, a grin plastered on his face. Zuko stood on the doorstep wearing dark jeans and a maroon sweater. Sokka looked down at his own gray sweatpants and t-shirt and said, “I didn’t know we were dressing up for this.” 

“We weren’t. I just figured I’d get dressed. I haven’t had much of an excuse to recently.” 

Sokka stepped aside to let Zuko in. Zuko offered the bottle of wine as he stepped inside and the door was closed behind him. 

“Wow, this is strange. I always wondered what your apartment looked like, I think it’s the same layout as mine, but this tile is different. Oh, I like the way you have your couch, I can never figure out how to use this space--”

“Zuko.”

Zuko turned and was immediately enveloped in the biggest hug Sokka could muster. He wrapped his arms around Zuko’s thin waist and placed his palms squarely against his back. Zuko squeaked a bit in surprise before letting out a breathy, “Oh!” and wrapping his own arms around Sokka’s shoulders. He still held the wine bottle in one hand and he was careful not to bump it against the back of Sokka’s head. With his free hand, he clasped at Sokka’s shoulder, tucking his nose against the crook between Sokka’s neck and shoulder. 

“I did warn you,” Sokka said, thrilled at the fact that he could speak so quietly, barely more than a whisper, and Zuko was close enough to hear him. “About the hug, I mean.”

“Hmm… I hoped you’d make good on the offer.” 

Sokka could feel the warm breath against his neck. Zuko smelled clean and rich, like a smoky cologne. Sokka hoped that he smelled at very least like the shampoo he had used in his hair this morning. 

They pulled away after a moment, not long enough in Sokka’s opinion but he didn’t want to overwhelm Zuko. They stood a foot apart from one another and Sokka realized that Zuko was taller than him. He had always thought they were about the same height, but this close he realized Zuko had at least two inches on him, if not more. 

“You’re taller than me,” Sokka said, unable to keep the smile off his face. 

“Sorry?” 

“I just never realized. It’s strange, having known you for months now but never actually, you know, seeing you like this.” 

Zuko smiled, warm and hazy. He held the wine out for Sokka to take and Sokka realized with a start that he had fish on the stove. “Shit,” he muttered, taking the wine and dashing to the kitchen before it could burn. He heard Zuko’s laugh echo from the other room, and that was new too.

“Can I help with anything?” Zuko asked as he strolled into the kitchen, hands in his pockets. 

“Yep. You can help with opening the wine and pouring me a glass.” 

Sokka set the wine on the table alongside the wine opener. After a moment of thought, he said, “I just realized I don’t own any wine glasses. I always used yours when you brought me dinner.” 

“Oh! Well, I can go get some of mine.” Zuko popped the cork and set the bottle on the table. He was out of the house in a second, and back before Sokka even had time to realize what was happening. 

“Rather convenient just being next door,” Zuko said as he placed the glasses on the table and began to pour. “I don’t have to worry about forgetting anything when I come over here, because it’s just next door. If I get drunk, I don’t have to call a cab. If my phone dies, I can just go plug it in.” 

Zuko set a wine glass in front of Sokka on the counter. He stepped around Sokka and reached for the stirring spoon without saying a word. He stirred the veggies sauteeing on the stovetop and said, “Does your left burner ever just stop working sometimes? Mine does, and it’s the worst, especially when it goes out when I’m in the middle of cooking because I won’t know it’s busted and then halfway through dinner, I realize it’s been cold the whole time…” 

Sokka was barely listening. He was far too distracted by the fact that their shoulders were nearly brushing, standing side-by-side at the stove. Zuko hadn’t even asked, he had just seamlessly integrated himself into Sokka’s kitchen and did what needed to be done. As though he’d been there for years, as though this was just as much his kitchen as it was Sokka’s. 

In a way, it kind of was. It was the same layout as his own, no doubt. He already knew his way around it. When he plucked a broccoli stem from the pan and tasted it he said, “Soy sauce in the fridge? This could use a little more,” then twisted with one hand still on the spoon in the pan and reached for the fridge, finding the soy sauce on the door as if it was right where he would have put it himself. He knew how to orient himself in the kitchen, knew all the little tricks, like that you had to stand two steps to the left of the stove to reach the fridge while still keeping the spoon over the pan. 

Sokka was in awe. This man, this beautiful, wonderful, unbelievable man, was in complete harmony with Sokka’s kitchen, his routines, his entire life. He fit in so well, as if he’d spent a lifetime there beside Sokka at the stove, chatting aimlessly about nothing and snagging food from the pan for secret taste tests. 

Sokka was so completely fucked. 

When the food was finished and they were a safe distance from one another at the table, Sokka could finally breathe again. They talked about the best restaurants they’d ever been to, the bars they wanted to visit first once quarantine was over, their favorite cocktail orders. As Sokka sipped his wine and listened to Zuko explain the finer points of a good Old Fashioned, Sokka wondered what he could do to preserve this moment forever. Not just in his memory, but the very action of it. What he could do to make it so Zuko never left this kitchen so that today could be like Groundhog Day over and over, the two of them here together in an endless repetition. 

“Sokka?” Zuko asked, raising an eyebrow. Sokka realized he hadn’t said anything in several minutes, just sat back in his chair and ogled Zuko over the rim of his wine glass. “Is everything okay?”

_ I’m in love with you.  _

“Your eyes are gold.” 

“What?” Zuko asked with a startled chuckle. 

“The color of them. They’re gold. I could never tell what color they were before, we were too far away. I’ve never met anyone with golden eyes before.” 

“Oh, yes, well, a family trait I’m afraid. I would much rather they were blue, like yours. Or any color, really.”

“They’re beautiful.” 

“Oh!” Zuko’s cheeked flushed pink. He took a long drink of his wine in an attempt to hide the smirk that was spreading across his face. He didn’t succeed. “Well, thank you.” 

“Zuko, I--” 

“Ah, ah, ah,” Zuko said, wagging his finger at Sokka. There was a playful look on his face Sokka had never seen before. “First it’s my turn. This tattoo, what does it represent?” 

Sokka’s heart stopped. Zuko had placed a finger on Sokka’s bicep as he spoke, hooking it under the hem of Sokka’s t-shirt and pushing it up his shoulder so he could see the entirety of the tattoo. 

“Oh, um, it represents family. See the intertwined circles here? And this part, it means water. My family comes from the coast, it’s where I was raised.” 

“Hmm…” Zuko nodded. He dropped his hand from where it burned against Sokka’s skin and took up his wine glass again. “I think it’s wonderful. And the way it makes your arms look. Very tasteful.”

Zuko winked as he said it and Sokka couldn’t take it anymore. He set his wine glass on the table very methodically, stood from his chair, and took a step toward Zuko. 

“Tell me not to,” Sokka said. 

“Why would I do that?” Zuko asked. 

A long-fingered hand reached forward and grabbed the front of Sokka’s shirt, pulling him forward so his thighs collided with Zuko’s knees. Sokka couldn’t say who closed the gap the rest of the way. Perhaps it was a mutual thing. All he knew was that his lips were on Zuko’s and they were the sweetest thing he’d ever tasted. 

It had been a long time since Sokka kissed somebody so needfully, like a teenager stealing kisses before the parents came home from work. Sokka felt like he could get used to this, but before things got too heated he pulled away and said, “Wait, wait. I don’t want to get-- To go too far. I want to do this right.” 

“Do it right?” Zuko’s lips were red and spit slick. The look was debaucherous. 

“Date you for real.” 

“Oh!” Zuko smiled, lowering his hands from Sokka’s shoulders and straightening his sweater. “Right. Of course.” 

Zuko’s nervous chuckle was one of the most endearing sounds Sokka had ever heard. 

“If the world was normal, I would take you out for dinner at this cute little diner I know, then we would go next door for drinks. We’d go to the movies, and out on hikes, and…” Sokka trailed off, wistful. “Damn, I wish the world was normal.” 

“We can do all that eventually. For now, I guess we’ll have to create our own dates.” 

“Right,” Sokka collected their plates from the table. “We’ll bring the diner and the movies to us.” 

Zuko helped Sokka clean up the mess from dinner, and the two stood side by side at the sink, Sokka washing and Zuko drying. Sokka prattled on about his favorite date spots in town and theorized about how if he was to block out the windows just right, maybe they could turn his living room into a home theater. Every time their hands brushed Sokka’s heart stuttered, and they both chuckled at the contact. 

After cleaning up, Zuko stood at the table and swirled his mostly empty wine glass in his hand. 

“I guess I should probably head home,” Zuko said, with a wistfulness in his voice that clearly stated that he had no intention of leaving at all. 

“We could watch a movie,” Sokka suggested. Zuko smiled and poured them each another glass of wine. 

Sokka showed Zuko to his DVD case, and Zuko trailed his fingers along the spines and pointed out all the ones he hadn’t seen. It was most of them. Sokka watched from the couch, wine glass in hand, raking his eyes over Zuko’s lithe shoulders and long legs. He only half-listened to Zuko’s listing of movie titles. 

“Let’s watch something happy,” Zuko suggested. “You pick.” 

Sokka chose  _ Moonrise Kingdom _ and popped it in the DVD player. Zuko settled in against the arm of the couch, long legs tucked under him and knees at level with his chest. Sokka sat beside him, unsure if he was allowed to touch Zuko. Should they be holding hands? Should he throw his arms around Zuko’s shoulders and pull him against his chest? Sokka wasn’t sure, and so he gave Zuko enough space to decide for himself. 

Zuko seemed to be thinking along the same lines. As the opening credits scrawled across the screen, Zuko said, “I’m not very good at dating.”

“What does that mean?” 

“I just haven’t dated much. I’m not sure how it’s supposed to go.” 

“Well…” Sokka thought about this. “I suppose you just do whatever feels right, whatever feels good. And we keep doing that, and if it starts to not feel good anymore, we reconsider.” 

“Kissing you felt good,” Zuko said thoughtfully. “Being here with you feels good.” 

“Then that’s a good start. You take the reigns here, whatever you want I’m up for. We don’t have to put a label on it yet if you don’t want to. And since we’re still in quarantine, you don’t have to worry about meeting the family and all that. Not yet, at least.” 

Zuko stared into his wine glass. He was thinking hard about something. Sokka wasn’t sure if he should ask, but he desperately wanted to know what it was that put that troubled look on Zuko’s face. He wanted to know so he could wipe it away and never let it settle there again. 

“I don’t think I want you to meet my family. You don’t have to worry about my dad, thank the Spirits. My sister is just as bad as he was though, and I don’t think you’d like her very much. I want you to meet my uncle though, you two would get along well.” 

“That’s okay. Like I said, only do what feels good. If it doesn’t feel good, don’t do it. That’s the motto I like to live by.” 

Zuko sighed and set his wine glass on the end table. He shifted in his seat, so his feet were tucked against the arm of the couch and his body was angled toward Sokka. Sokka raised an arm instinctually and let Zuko settle against his side. Once he was nicely tucked against Sokka’s ribcage, Sokka let his arm drop around Zuko’s shoulders. 

“This feels good,” Zuko said. 

“Good.” Sokka pressed his nose against Zuko’s hair, just above his ear. “Then don’t stop.” 

As the movie went on their position became more relaxed. Sokka stretched out on the cushions until his head was pillowed on the opposite arm of the couch, his legs tangled with Zuko’s. Zuko kept his head on Sokka’s chest, one arm wrapped around Sokka’s waist and the other pinned against the back of the couch. There was a lot of shuffling and chuckling as they found their preferred positions, and more than one proclamation of, “I don’t know where to put my hand.”

When the end credits rolled, Zuko was asleep. Sokka thought about waking him, before reminding himself of his own motto. It felt good to have Zuko here, his body a comfortable weight against Sokka’s ribcage. It felt good to hold him, to run his fingers along Zuko’s arm, and feel the soft fabric of his sweater under his fingertips. Waking Zuko and telling him to go home would not feel good, so Sokka didn’t do it. 

They slept there, entwined together on the couch until the morning sun broke through the blinds, and greeted them warmly and with a tenderness Sokka hadn’t experienced in years. 

* * *

Sokka learned a lot about Zuko over the next few weeks. The file in Sokka’s mind labeled ‘Zuko’ was overflowing, bursting with thoughts and recollections even when Sokka was meant to be working, meant to be doing chores, meant to be falling asleep. 

Zuko liked his food spicy, much hotter than Sokka could handle it. He brought over a tin of homemade chili oil to store in Sokka’s fridge so he could season everything to his liking. 

Zuko didn’t eat candy, but he was a fiend for salty snacks. Sokka stocked up on popcorn and learned how to season it to Zuko’s precise pallet. 

Zuko like sad movies, and sad books. He liked to keep his apartment warm and didn’t fair well as the season started to turn and the temperature dropped. Sokka kept his air conditioning off and made sure there was always a throw blanket or two on the couch for movie nights. Zuko wrote in the mornings but lost his steam by midafternoon, which was when he took 30-minute showers and got lost in brainstorming trances until Sokka knocked on his door with food or an invitation. 

Zuko’s apartment was stylishly furnished with sleek black bookshelves and framed art prints. The tv he purportedly owned was barely larger than a computer monitor. He only had a DVD/VCR combo but owned no DVDs or VHSs to speak of. Zuko kept a sourdough starter in his fridge. His second bedroom was a home office, same as Sokka’s, but Zuko’s was outfitted with a long black desk nearly 8 feet long, covered in scraps of paper, stacks of old books, and a slim Macbook Air. There was a three-ringed binder on the desk too. Zuko introduced it as his manuscript. Sokka itched to read it but figured all good things came in time. 

Sokka learned all the ways to touch Zuko, too. Zuko liked it when Sokka took his hand and lead him to the couch for movie nights. He liked it when Sokka pressed kisses to his jawline, his neck, his shoulder. He liked it when Sokka ran fingertips along his spine, and twirled spirals on his hip bones. Most of all, he liked to be held and snuggled and hugged, but he wasn’t good at asking for it. Sokka had to learn to read it in his face, in the slump of his shoulders. Sokka learned that quickly, though, and was always happy to pull him into his arms and make him feel safe and secure. 

Eventually, Sokka learned about the scar, too. It was a rough night. 

It was the tea kettle that set it off. Zuko owned an electric kettle, a posh little thing that heated the entire pitcher in under seven minutes. Sokka did not. Sokka owned a second-hand stovetop kettle that shrieked when the water boiled. 

Sokka had thought he was doing a nice thing for Zuko by making tea. They were settling in for another Wes Anderson movie (Zuko quite liked them, said he found the aesthetic pleasing) and Zuko was already tucked into the couch, phone in hand. Sokka was distracted, trying to make popcorn and boil tea at the same time. The kettle whistled. Sokka didn’t remove it immediately, trying to keep the popcorn from burning on the stove. Eventually, he did remove it and poured a cup without noticing that anything was amiss. Sokka was talking, running his mouth about the time he  _ thought  _ he ran into Bill Murray at a gas station but it had just been some other middle-aged white guy. Zuko didn’t respond, but then again, it hadn’t been a very exciting story. 

Sokka left the tea to steep. He climbed over the back of the couch, popcorn bowl in hand, and plopped it on the couch beside Zuko. Zuko didn’t react. Sokka peered at him, the way he had his knees pulled to his chest, his arms wrapped around them. His eyes were closed. His face was entirely passive, not betraying a single emotion. 

“Zuko? Did you hear me? I was a little overzealous with the salt shaker, so let me know if it’s too salty. I can make another batch, or add more butter, or…” Sokka stared at the other man. He hadn’t moved an inch. “Zuko, what’s going on?” 

“I think I’m going to throw up.” 

That had not been the reaction Sokka was expecting. Sokka stared, dumbfounded, as Zuko climbed from the couch with jerky movements and dashed to the bathroom. Sokka heard the aftermath immediately. Zuko hadn’t been lying. 

“What the fuck?” Sokka asked the empty room before his body caught up with the situation and he scrambled to the bathroom after Zuko. 

Zuko was hunched over the toilet, dry heaving, his hands shaking on the side of the basin. Sokka hovered there a moment, muttering variations of “uhh…” and “umm…” as he tried to figure out what the best way to handle this would be. He didn’t want to overwhelm Zuko, but he also didn’t want to stand here gaping when something was so obviously wrong. 

Finally, Sokka dropped to his knees beside Zuko and laid a hand on his back. Zuko heaved again, and Sokka reached forward to pull the hair away from Zuko’s face. As he approached, Zuko flinched violently and jerked away from Sokka. 

“Don’t touch me,” Zuko said, his voice colder and more irritated than Sokka had ever heard it. 

“Okay.” Sokka removed his hands immediately and leaned away to give Zuko space. “Okay. I’m sorry. I’m going to go get you water, okay?” 

Sokka did so in a trance. He filled the glass at the kitchen sink, and grabbed a clean dishrag from the drawer, soaking it in cold water before returning to the bathroom. He set the items on the counter and stood over Zuko, who seemed to be finished but hadn’t yet lifted his head. 

“Here,” Sokka offered the washrag to Zuko. 

With a trembling hand, Zuko reached forward to flush to the toilet. He took the rag from Sokka’s hand and wiped it across his mouth, sitting back on his heels. He ran the rag over his face again before offering it blindly to Sokka. Sokka saw his face only briefly, his eyes closed, his face twisted in an expression of anguish. Sokka took the rag and Zuko covered his face with his hands, tipping his head back and pressing his fingertips to his eyes. He let out a shaking breath. 

“I’m sorry-- I--” Zuko shook his head. “I should go.” 

“Wait, no, no don’t go.” Sokka dropped to his knees again, hands hovering over Zuko’s shoulders but not touching. “Are you sick? Did I do something wrong?” 

“No.”

“Can you look at me?” 

Zuko shook his head, hands still pressed to his face. His breath was shaky and uneven, his shoulders hunched high around his ears. 

“Can I touch you?” 

Hesitation. Then, a small nod. 

Sokka placed a hand on Zuko’s shoulder, feeling the way he shook beneath it. Sokka used his other hand to reach around Zuko, coaxing him toward Sokka’s chest. Zuko went willingly, let himself fall forward against Sokka, and tucked his head against Sokka’s shoulder, his hands still hiding his face. 

“It’s okay,” Sokka whispered. “It’s okay, you’re okay.” 

Sokka used his thumbs to rub small circles against Zuko’s shoulderblades. He pressed his face into Zuko’s dark hair, whispering comforting words there until Zuko dropped his hands and clutched at the front of Sokka’s hoodie. 

“I’m sorry,” Zuko whispered back. Sokka shook his head. 

“Don’t be sorry. You’re okay. Come on, let’s get off the floor, yeah?” 

Sokka pulled away slowly, giving Zuko time to adjust to the movement. He moved his hands from Zuko’s back to his forearms, wrapping his fingers around Zuko’s wrists gently, loosely enough that Zuko could pull away if he wanted to. Zuko didn’t raise his eyes to meet Sokka, just kept them trained on Sokka’s hoodie. His eyes were red and he chewed his lip between his teeth, but there were no tears. 

Sokka stared for several moments before leaning forward to kiss the corner of Zuko’s mouth. Zuko twisted his mouth into a grimace and pulled back a bit. 

“Sokka, don’t. I haven’t brushed my teeth, I’m disgusting--”

“Disgustingly handsome, yes,” Sokka teased, pressed another kiss to Zuko’s cheek, then his forehead. Zuko didn’t pull away, instead a miserable little smile tugged at his lips. 

“You’re gross.” 

“Hmm…” Sokka agreed, climbing to his feet and pulling Zuko with him. 

Sokka laced their fingers together and tugged him out of the bathroom and onto the couch. Zuko folded in on himself, knees pulled to his chest again. He tucked his feet under Sokka’s thigh, and Sokka rested their entwined fingers on Zuko’s knee. 

“Are you feeling sick?” Sokka asked, running his thumb along the length of Zuko’s index finger. 

“No. I’m not sick. I-- It happens sometimes. When I get upset.” 

Sokka took in this information, rolled it over in his mind before speaking. 

“Did I do something to upset you?”

“No!” Zuko said quickly. “Well, yes. But you didn’t mean to. It was stupid. It doesn’t matter, really Sokka, it doesn’t.” 

“I think it does. If it upset you, I’d like to know what it is so I don’t do it again by accident. Was it me talking about Bill Murray? I’m sorry, I didn’t know he meant so much to you, Zuko.” 

“No,” there it was again, that miserable smile. “No, it wasn’t Bill Murray.” 

Sokka smiled and tugged at Zuko’s hand. “Come on, you can tell me. Do you have a crush on Bill Murray? It’s okay if you do, I won’t be jealous.” 

“No,” this time Zuko laughed, just a little bit. “Stop it.” 

“You  _ loooove  _ him,” Sokka pulled Zuko’s hand harder this time, so Zuko was forced to drop a foot to the floor and lean toward Sokka. He was limp and pliable, falling toward Sokka like a ragdoll. “You love him and you’re jealous I met him once.” 

“You didn’t meet him,” Zuko laughed again. It wasn’t his real laugh, it was a breathy, nervous approximation of his real laugh, but it still warmed Sokka’s heart. “You met some random guy and thought it was him.” 

“Mmm…” Sokka agreed, nosing against Zuko’s hair and kissing his jaw just below his ear. “Maybe I was lying. Maybe I didn’t want to make you jealous.” 

“Sokka,” Zuko whined. “Stop.” 

Sokka wrapped his arms around Zuko’s waist and tugged him closer, face still buried in Zuko’s hair. Zuko let himself be pulled along, leaning against Sokka’s chest and nuzzling against Sokka’s collarbone. 

“Okay, so it wasn’t Bill Murray that upset you. Allegedly. Do you want to tell me what it was?” 

“It was the tea kettle.”

“I thought you liked tea.” 

“I do. It was just… It haven’t heard one in a while. And it brought up some bad memories.” 

“Okay,” Sokka said slowly. “Okay. Do you want to talk about the bad memories?” 

“No. I don’t know. Maybe. Yes?” 

“Hmm… That was a lot of answers. Maybe pick one?” 

“Yes,” the word was so quiet, whispered against Sokka’s chest. “Yes, I want to tell you.” 

Sokka ran his fingers through Zuko’s hair, waiting. Zuko didn’t say anything for a long while, just held completely still in Sokka’s arms. 

“It’s not something I tell people about. My scar, I mean. When they ask, I usually say it’s none of their business. Or I just tell them it was a cooking accident and I was so young I don’t remember it.” 

_ Oh, _ Sokka thought.  _ Oh, please don’t be going where I think this is going.  _

“But you do remember it.” It wasn’t a question. 

“Yes. I try not to, but it’s kind of impossible not to. I was thirteen. My father…” Zuko sucked in a breath, then sighed. “My father and I used to argue a lot. This was one of those times, and I made him angry. He was making tea, and the kettle had been shrieking the whole time. Then he threw it at me. It missed, mostly. But not all of the water missed.” 

“Zuko…” 

“And I told the doctors that it was my fault, that I had been playing around with it and I slipped and burned myself. And the worst part is, he didn’t even ask me to say that. He didn’t have to, I just knew I needed to lie for him or else I would be in more trouble, and I would have more burns to match the one on my face.” 

His breathing was much faster now, and the words came out in a jumbled heap like he wanted to force them out. It was like ripping off a bandaid, the faster you went the less it hurt. 

“At first it didn’t even hurt at all, and I thought nothing had happened. But it hurt later after the doctors looked at it. They told me the fact that it didn’t hurt meant that it was bad and that I would have a scar forever. They thought I wouldn’t ever be able to see out of my eye again and they were half right, but it’s better than they said it would be. I didn’t want to let it define me, I wanted to be more than just my scar. And I wanted to get away from the man who gave it to me, I didn’t want to let him control me. But it took a long time to figure that out. I should have told the doctors immediately, they would have helped me. I should have-- I wish I would have--” 

Zuko’s hands had balled into fists at Sokka’s chest. He was clutching at the fabric of Sokka’s hoodie, twisting it between his fingers. Breath shallow and uneven, his entire body trembling in Sokka’s arms. But he wasn’t crying, his voice sounded so strong even though he was talking himself into a panic. 

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Sokka whispered, taking Zuko by his shoulders delicately. It was so hard to be delicate. Not that it was hard to be delicate with Zuko, Sokka would always treat him with kindness, would never cause him pain or harm, but it was hard to feel such anger in his heart and yet transfer it into tenderness for the man before him. It was hard, but not impossible. Anger rose like bile in Sokka’s throat, but he pushed it down and spoke with the softest voice he could muster. “Will you look at me?”

Sokka pushed at Zuko’s shoulders gently, peeling him away from Sokka’s chest and holding him just far enough away that they could look at one another. Zuko’s lip was pinned between his teeth again, and his eyes flickered frantically between Sokka, his hands, the couch, and back to Sokka. 

“Thank you for telling me. He shouldn’t have done that to you. I know you know that already, and that’s good. I’m sorry he did that to you. I’m so,  _ so  _ sorry he did that.” 

Sokka’s eyes trailed along the ragged edges of the scar, found where they disappeared behind the veil of his inky black hair. Still so red and angry looking all these years after the injury occurred. A reminder, one he had to see every day he looked in the mirror. A reminder of the cruelty of a man who ought to have loved him, ought to never have caused him a day of pain. Sokka felt tears well up in his own eyes. 

“You  _ are  _ more than the scar. You’re so much more than it, Zuko, don’t ever think that it defines you.” 

It made Sokka sick to think he was only telling a half-truth. Zuko was more than his scar. He was kind and thoughtful and patient. He was beautiful inside and out. And yet, the scar had been one of the first things Sokka knew him for. Before they ever spoke, when they were still strangers passing one another in the hallway, Sokka had known Zuko as his handsome neighbor with the striking scar. He had pigeonholed Zuko for it without ever meaning to. It was a disservice, one more people than Sokka sanctioned on Zuko without ever knowing him. 

Sokka was crying. How had this happened? Sokka had no right to cry, not when Zuko was the one bearing the trauma. 

“Don’t,” Zuko said, sounding more panicked now than he had before. “Sokka, no, I’m sorry, don’t cry please.” 

Zuko’s hands were on Sokka’s face and he was pressing kisses to Sokka’s slack lips, his cheeks, his nose. 

“I’m  _ so  _ sorry.” 

“I know,” Zuko said between kisses. “I know. I didn’t mean to upset you.” 

Sokka crushed Zuko to him, and they sat like that on the couch for a long time, Zuko kneeling beside Sokka, their arms wrapped around each other and faces buried in one another’s necks. Sokka tried to control his breathing, inhaling the scent of Zuko, the soft feel of him in his arms. Whole and complete and so strong, much stronger than Sokka. Stronger than he should have ever had to be, carrying the weight of so much cruelty on his shoulders. 

Sokka sniffed, pulled back, wiped at his nose and eyes. Zuko sat back on his heels and eyed him curiously. There was no judgment in his gaze, just careful warmth and so much affection it made Sokka’s stomach hurt. 

A wet laugh escaped Sokka’s lips, a sad, strangled sound. He wiped his nose again and said, “I’ll be honest, I wish this had been about Bill Murray.” 

That made Zuko laugh too, his own just a sad and broken sounding as Sokka’s had. He wrapped his arms around Sokka’s waist and burrowed into his open arms. 

“We can lie and say it was.” 

“Both of us, crying on the couch, all because you love Bill Murray more than you love me.” 

“Impossible,” Zuko said, softly, and with honesty. “I don’t think I could love anyone more than I do you.” 

It wasn’t  _ I love you.  _ Not yet. Those words were big, they were difficult to say. But it was close enough, and Sokka squeezed Zuko closer and chuckled. 

They didn’t end up watching a movie that night. They just held one another on the couch, sharing gentle touches and taking up one another’s personal space. They slept in Sokka’s bed that night, twisted around one another. The next day Sokka threw out his old kettle and ordered a new, electric one to match Zuko’s. Zuko never said a word when he saw it in the kitchen the next week, just gave Sokka a soft smile that functioned as a better  _ thank you  _ than words ever could. 

* * *

**QuaranGANG**

**Sokka** :   
Attachment [IMG:15998]   
Just thought you guys should know   
;)

**Katara** :   
OH MY GODS

**Suki** :   
!!!!   
I KNEW IT

**Aang** :   
Yay!! So happy for you guys!!

**Toph** :   
WHAT IS IT   
WHAT DID HE SEND

**Aang** :   
It’s a picture of him and Zuko!!   
Together!!

**Suki** :   
They’re being disgustingly cute!!   
Toph I wish you could see it

**Katara** :   
When did this happen??   
Are you guys official????

**Toph** :   
WHO WON THE BET   
I NEED FACTS HERE

**Sokka** :   
Yep! We’re official. I asked him last week   
Once all of this is over you guys can come over and officially meet my BOYFRIEND

**Suki** :   
We need more facts than that   
When was the first kiss   
Who said I love you first   
When was the first date

**Sokka** :   
Well let me see   
Toph had 10 on us making it official when quarantine ends   
Which technically means you lost since we are dating and quarantine hasn’t ended   
Suki, you said we were going to break quarantine so points to you   
Katara, you said love by september, so I think you win also

**Toph** :   
THIS IS BULLSHIT

**Suki** :   
Youre only saying that bc you lost   
:)

**Toph** :   
Garbage!! Absolute trash!!!

**Katara** :   
Toph you can have my ten   
I’m just glad you figured it all out Sokka :)

**Aang** :   
Me too! Happy for you two

**Sokka** :   
I’m happy for us too :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess I should probably say that I don't condone breaking quarantine if the restrictions in your area prohibit that kind of thing. Sokka and Zuko have one (1) braincell between them and should not be used as examples of responsibility... 
> 
> I know I said earlier that this is the end... But I kinda think it isn't... I have a novel I really should be writing, but these two idiots won't get out of my head. So I'm thinking of doing a companion drabble piece. Let me know in the comments if there's anything you would like to see in the companion piece. I already have ideas swirling. ((NOTE: I don't write smut, so pls don't ask me to.))
> 
> As always, thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed it! red-0ak-tree on tumblr if you want to chat with me over there :)


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